


You Know He Betrays You

by fruityoatey_bahhh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hopefully not too much, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Sex, This is probably awful, Ziam AU, because why not, kind of a game of thrones crossover/au, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, my apologies, probably lots of sex, some gore, this is a little cheesy, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruityoatey_bahhh/pseuds/fruityoatey_bahhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(oopsie forgot a summary xx)</p><p>Kind of a Game of Thrones AU, where Zayn is Loras, and Liam is Renly, except neither of them die, because I'm nice. I've been on a GoT kick, soooooo this is the product.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I owe everyone like a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge apology, cause I'm just about the suckiest writer on this site and I made you all wait forever. I've been super busy, but I shouldn't have waited so long to update.
> 
> So here's the deal:  
> Definitely haven't given up on my other fic, I'm just having some extreme writer's block with it. It feels bland, and I don't know what to add to it, so I'm struggling a little. But it's not forgotten, and it's still in the works right now. Hopefully this will satisfy.
> 
> On that note, I'm on a huge Game of Thrones kick right now, because I just recently finished up the third book, so I was like, well, wouldn't it be kind of cool to write a little GoT au for these pairings. I kind of wanted to recreate the relationship that Loras and Renly had (RIP), but with Zayn and Liam instead. This could be awful as hell, and feel free to tell me if it is, because I'm not expecting miracles here. But it was fun, and a good way to actually start writing again, so hopefully it's got some good qualities. 
> 
> Quick Disclaimer: I don't own or affiliate myself with One Direction or the GoT franchise, since I obviously didn't write/work with either. The ideas in this fic are purely for entertainment purposes, etc, etc. I don't know any of the members of 1d, and please do not share this or any of my works with them, or anybody affiliated with them. 
> 
> Also, about the violence, if any of you have seen or read GoT, you know that it's pretty violent, as well as pretty sexually explicit. I don't write violence too often, and it definitely won't be as intense, but there will be some battle scenes in the future, and I will try to make it detailed, so if that's not your thing, then this might not be a good one to read. The sexually explicit thing is manageable, I'm assuming? I'm shit at writing sex scenes, so. Forgive me for that.
> 
> Hugs and kisses  
> -worst author ever

Spiced wine never tasted so bitter on Liam’s tongue.

It was said that wine only tasted sweeter on wedding nights; that it left a glossy sheen  made everything seem soft, but tonight it only served to dull the slight throb of a headache starting just behind his eyes. The worst kind.

Weddings were joyous, because war and drought seemed to all but fade behind the wedding skirts and ring of citadel bells. The food was never-ending, where platters upon platters of honey-roasted venison, onion pies, sweet pork, and fresh baked bread were stacked upon the slender hands of serving girls.

These nights, no one went hungry.

No children were crying in the streets of Flea Bottom, wondering where their parents were, and wondering why they were so hungry.

And best of all, no one died. That tradition of death at weddings was only upheld by Dothraki clans, across the narrow sea and too far away for Liam to even imagine that they existed, as self-absorbed as that sounded.

He was away from all of it, and in this sweet semblance of time, he could pretend that nothing was wrong at all with the state of this city.

His father had always called him soft for not liking the diseased stench of war. Like the idea of not enjoying taking another life was somehow flawed. Liam didn’t think so. Didn’t like the way blood felt between his fingers.

Things like war, and death, and hunger were far from his mind tonight. Because tonight he was facing something far more terrifying. His father raised a glass to him from down the long, narrow table, and a million other men, intoxicated out of their wits with scantily clad women in their laps all raised their glasses in response. Next to him, Liam felt a hand drop to his thigh. A delicate, powdered hand with skin like olive. It was usually the groom who was forward, and ready to skip the feast and leap straight to their bedchambers. Out of the two though, Liam felt like the blushing bride.

It was his wedding night.

And he liked her. Illyria was beautiful in every way. She always had been, all throughout their time growing up together. Age only enhanced that beauty, he thought. And so did the rest of the male population of Westeros, it seemed.

And tonight, more than a few eyes had landed on her a little too long, trailing down the tight bodice of her corset, and the small swell of her breasts. Her hair was dark, and hung in heavy ringlets all the way down her back. Her eyes were grey, almost cerulean, something that was so startling amongst her features, but somehow the most beautiful thing about her.

He thought about her sometimes, but never in the way he ought to. Like those nights where he’d lay in his bed, with a calloused hand wrapped around himself, where he was maybe supposed to wonder what she’d feel like, and what kind of noises she’d make. But he can’t, and even now in all her effervescent beauty, he couldn’t muster anything but a feeling of firm distaste at the back of his throat.

It was nerves, or too much to drink, or maybe it was the seventh course of brined pork and savory vegetables, but something wasn’t sitting right in his stomach. The offhanded, intoxicated shouting of men he barely knew, and the shrill giggling of serving girls and highborn ladies who let a little more cleavage show on nights like these than usual, had his teeth gritting, and that slight pound of a headache only becoming more of a hinderance on his calm exterior.

“Don’t look so pained, sir.” He felt Zayn’s lips brushing the shell of his ear as he whispered, all secretive. His Dornish accent was still thick, even after all these years. “It’s your wedding. Try to enjoy it. Most folks only get one.”

“Most folks decide who and when they want to get married. I’m not one of those folks.” Liam mumbled back. He knew Zayn meant well, but tonight his honeyed tongue didn’t make things seem so easy.

“It’s for a good cause, yes? Secures a stable relationship between lands for your lineage. Less chance of your future sons being speared to death by one of my own.” The Dornishman teased, and Liam felt a hand drop down to his thigh, seeping warmth through his breeches with the little squeeze he gave.

“How about you just teach your future sons not to spear others for sport?” Liam jested, turning to look him in the eyes and down to those serene, soft looking lips that were always moulded into some kind of smirk. “It’s not really in good taste to hunt your own kind.”

“Oh, Liam. You can’t think so little of the Dornish people.” He clicked his tongue, hand scooting a little farther up Liam’s thigh. “We’re very peaceful.”

“Tell that to my father.” Liam smiled, and glanced away, leg gone cold from Zayn having finally pried his hand back.

“Pay attention to my sister. I’m not the bride tonight.” Zayn clipped him over the ear, and slouched back in his seat, looking every bit as disheveled as he appeared the first time Liam met him, even in royal garb.

He wasn’t one of them truly. His father reminded him of that from time to time. Zayn had come to King’s Landing as a boy of twelve, after a trade with the Dornish people in order to strengthen the ties against Highgarden. King’s Landing gained royalties and currency to put towards paying off debt--although Liam wondered if they were only spiralling further into debt by throwing lavish events, with the heart of the capital all invited to watch--and an army to strengthen the outer defences.

Zayn had practically grown to be a member of their family, Liam at least thought. But to the King, Liam’s father, that was not to be the case. Not ever. Even though he’d served as Liam’s page and squire, the king never deemed him fit enough to live under their roof as an equal.

And that was what the throne did. Left a permanent slouch in whomever sat on bent iron, and drained them of any semblance of humanity. His father had been a gentle man once.  
  


Now he drank himself near to death at every meal, and when his thick fingers weren’t wrapped around a tankard, they were wrapped around the hilt of his sword, even though he could barely swing the damned thing anymore.

When Liam glanced down the table again, past various familiar faces of his family, a young, fair-haired girl with freckles sat in the king’s lap, arms draped casually over his shoulders. She’s laughing unabashedly, red lips stretched wide while his father whispers something in her ear.

Liam has to look away when he sees a glint of the king’s tongue, licking around her ear. The queen was bedridden, and better off not seeing this, Liam decided. He loved his step-mother well enough, but sometimes he wonders what she was thinking, marrying into this mess.

Why anyone would want to marry into this mess, Liam doesn’t know.

“You look lost on me tonight.” Illyria all but purrs into Liam’s ear. Her voice is soft like silk, just like her brother’s, and it sends a shiver through Liam just the same, albeit for very different reasons. Like maybe her sugary sweet voice is as deadly as the way she can wield a hunting knife.

Liam smiles politely, hands dropping down to fold in his lap. “Not at all.” He says, swallowing a deep gulp of air. “Just... people-watching, I suppose.”

“You’ve been people-watching all night, my love.” She says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “When are you going to start paying attention to me, huh? We’ve still got the bedding ceremony, or have your people stopped doing that? You call us the vulgar ones.” She smiles, glossy lips tilting up crookedly.

Liam feels himself go bright red, from the tips of his ears, all the way down to his neck. He hates that he blushes so easily. Like his body betrays him on purpose, just to get those devilishly knowing looks from Zayn or his sisters.

The whole Dornish population seemed to find him amusing.

“I don’t think that’ll be happening tonight.” He stammered out quickly. “My father, he- uh. He doesn’t believe in that kind of ceremony. Thinks it wastes time.”

“Then we can get right to it.” Illyria smiles, perfectly aligned white teeth showing behind prim, rosy lips. “I’ve been told I don’t disappoint at that part.”

Liam’s jaw goes numb when he opens his mouth to reply, and really, what can a person actually say to something like that?

“You shouldn’t say that so loud.” He mumbles, clearing his throat behind his fist. “It’s not decent when women talk like that.”

“Is it so sinful to enjoy that kind of pleasure openly?” Her eyelashes fan across her cheeks when she blinks. “I hear the men here mention their cocks about five times in one sentence, and yet for me, it is not so?” She smiles, laying a hand over Liam’s. “In Dorne, it is not so. We embrace pleasure. There’s no shame in it. People like pleasure in all forms.”

Liam glances down at their conjoined hands for a second, and slowly pries his away, clearing his throat under the guise of taking another drink.

He elects to ignore her looks, and stare straight ahead, at the ruckus and the mess of all the activity. The majority of these guests probably couldn’t care less who Liam married. The appeal of a royal wedding was call enough it seemed to attract the wealthiest in the capital, whether they were friends of the family or not. Outside, Liam knows there are thousands more, amongst the poor, and starving, or just not prestigious enough to sit in the actual dining hall. Maybe they’re protesting, maybe a riot’s being waged, and no one within the facility would be privy to it.

Beside him, he can hear Zayn snort, before turning to one of Liam’s aunts, talking jovially about the spring harvest, and from the tone of his voice, Liam can tell that he doesn’t know or care what they’re talking about.

And that’s the thing about Zayn.

He’s the closest thing Liam’s got to a friend. He trusts him almost complicitly. All those nights spent out in the warm, summer air, where Zayn would talk about home, and what he misses most about the summer’s in Dorne, where the air would smell like pomegranates, and how he hated the air from the sea, because it made him feel stiff, and, “Not in the good way”, according to him.

But there’s still so much that Liam doesn’t know about him, that sometimes he wonders if he’s too trusting. Desperate to have someone to talk to so his brain doesn’t turn to mush. Or so he doesn’t go cold, like his parents. He doesn’t remember exactly when they stopped being nurturing. He guesses it was somewhere around the time he made the transition between childhood, and what his father calls ‘manhood’.

He was never good at living up to that title.

But Zayn? Zayn fit his father’s definition almost perfectly. He held himself tall, despite being just about an inch shorter than Liam himself. He squared his shoulders out and folded his hands behind his back whenever talking to someone higher up. He never showed emotion, unless it was condescending, or cheeky, like whenever he went to chat up all the girls that gave him lingering glances. Chatted the boys up too, although Liam suspected it was more to make him uncomfortable than anything. His words were suave, and easy as they rolled off his tongue, and he had such an air of confidence surrounding him that Liam was almost tempted to ask him to take his place as heir to the throne.

Ironically, his father found all those qualities irritating and defiant on Zayn, but wished them all on Liam anyway.

A tankard was quite literally dropped on the table in front of Liam, his thoughts dripping away like the wine that sloshed over the lip of the cup, and stained the wormwood table.

“Well, buddy, you fuckin’ did it.” Louis growled obnoxiously to be heard over the live music. He leaned in close so that Liam could probably count all the pores on his face, his skin lightly dusted with perspiration, and a few marks littering his exposed neck.

He’s garbed in clean white armour, with the sigil of their house-- a man wielding chains on a violet background--stitched onto the left side of his cloak. Louis had earned himself a title as a member of the Kingsguard at the simple age of sixteen, after he’d been mad enough to take part in tourney. He’d been born with a gift, it had been said. At only thirteen, he’d started showing great promise with a melee, and by the age of fifteen, he’d already been deemed a prodigy. Lethal with any kind of blade. His personality never gave that away though, so much so that he could’ve been mistaken for a sellsword over a knight of status.

“Yeah, guess I did.” Liam said, leaning back after the thick stench of wine and something a little stronger wafted from the boy. “Aren’t you not supposed to drink when you’re on duty?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Awww, Liam. I love you.” He fawned, leaning over the table to grab the back of Liam’s neck, giving him a clumsy little squeeze. “I always thought we’d be the ones to get married honestly. You’re all dreamy, and heroic.”

Liam can almost feel Zayn snort next to him, and feels his cheeks burn.

“But you’re also an arse.” Louis drawled. “I’m drinking in honor of your big day, so don’t spoil it.”

“And if someone comes in to slit my throat while I walk down the aisle?” Liam mused.

“Well, thank fuck you already walked the aisle.” Louis answered. “And only someone heartless would want to slit your throat. You’re fuckin’ dreamy, man.”

“There are a lot of heartless people, so I’d be on your guard.” Liam smiled, pushing a hand through Louis’ hair, before giving him a gentle nudge to push him away. In the dim glow of the lit hearth and the blazing chandeliers lining the hall, he can tell that the violet marks that only come from kisses are not only on Louis’ neck, but all along his jawline, and across his collarbones, before disappearing under his raiment.

“He flirts, yes?” Zayn asks from behind him, leaning forward on his elbows to stare down the hall where Louis’ white cloak is trailing behind him in a flurry.

Liam nods. “Yes. He does.”

“And it bothers you, yes?” Zayn asks, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“Wha- oh. No. I mean, that’s just Louis.” Liam shrugs. “Flirts with anyone who’s got a pulse.”

Zayn hums under his breath, tongue coming out to lick the splashes of wine off his lips. “He’s unprofessional.”

“Yes, and we’ve known that about him for many years.” Liam smiles, reaching over to clap Zayn on the shoulder. “Nothing to be too concerned about.”

“But he’s to be protecting you. I do not understand.” Zayn’s eyebrows raise just a touch. “You want someone like him, someone unprofessional, protecting you? Does not seem effective, do you think?”

“Well, I’m alive, so I think he’s doing an alright job.” Liam smiled, giving Zayn a curious side glance. “What’s it to you?”

“Men who speak the common tongue natively are very...common.” He smiled, leaning in a little closer. “I could probably defend you better than half the men on that Kingsguard.”

And Liam knew that was true. He’s seen Zayn with a spear, and even a bow once, and it’s enough to make him believe that, yeah, Zayn could probably do a great deal better than what was already being handed out to him.

“Are you boasting, or just pointing out facts?”

“Maybe a bit of both.” Zayn says, ever the humble one of the two. “Does it impress you?”

“I’ve seen the magicians of Bravos, not much impresses me.” Liam smirks, and sometimes he gets these little bouts of courage like this that surprise even himself.

“Cheeky.” Zayn says, matter-of-factly, before pressing his wine glass up to Liam’s lips. “Drink.”

“What are you-”

“Drink.” Zayn cooes, giving a little eyebrow lift. The glow from the hearth makes Zayn’s eyes look ablaze, glossed out in burnt orange and violent reds. It’s enough to make him almost too distracted to the feel the hand that comes up, and the cold fingers that press gently to his cheek, keeping him still.

He tilts his chin down a little, eyes on Zayn to look for any sign of foul play, but Zayn tips the tankard up with him, and hot, spiced wine touches his lips, and zips across his tongue as he takes one smooth sip. He feels drunk off the touch alone, but the alcohol in his system makes him feel more alert, like he’s attuned to Zayn’s frequency.

“Good, yes?” Zayn asks, thumb brushing over his cheekbone once, before he’s pulling away altogether.

Liam takes a second to collect his wits, because he suddenly feels very intoxicated, but not from the alcohol. He still felt very coherent, but his body felt like it was floating in water.

“Very good.” He says finally, swallowing the last taste of it that’s lingering on his tongue.

“Good.” Zayn remarks, pressing the tankard into his hand. “Have some more.”

Liam’s eyebrows crinkle together a little. He’s not quite understanding what’s behind this gesture, but whatever it is, he’s buying it, or so it would seem.

He drinks when Zayn refills his glass, and Liam thinks by the end of the reception that Zayn’s properly pissed along with him, but when he stands, he has to grip the table to keep from toppling over. His limbs feel large, and too heavy, and he typically avoids getting drunk for this reason, because he hates not feeling in control of his motor skills, but his nerves and inhibitions are definitely gone.

“Easy there, soldier.” And it’s Zayn’s voice in his ear, sliding an arm under Liam’s to keep him upright. “Time for bed, yes?”

“Yes.” Liam agrees, saluting clumsily with two fingers. “Bed time for me. And my… Uh. The wife.”

“Yes, bed for you and your wife.” Zayn chuckles.

Liam can hear the catcalls coming from across the room, at least a dozen men making obscene sexual gestures his way, and calling out things that sound dirty on Liam’s tongue, and that he wouldn’t ever repeat sober, let alone drunk.

“Is my love okay?” He hears Illyria on his right, and feels a gentle arm of hers loop around his waist while she and Zayn walk him out of the dining hall, with a grouping of brave milling out behind them to leave.

“I’m just fine.” Liam says, although his voice slurs at the end, so the last word draws on for a good three seconds, before he breaks off with a small laugh. “Maybe not. The wine was good and aplenty tonight.”

“Yes it was, my prince.” She laughs heartily in his ear.

“He might need to be put straight to bed.” Zayn says, and Liam listens to Illyria hum in agreement at his side.

Inside, he’s relieved. Wedding nights were reserved for… Well. More intimate things behind closed doors that Liam’s only heard about, but never taken part of. At least not with a second party, but alone with his right hand and his thoughts of what it could feel like.

Even when low-born girls made him the not-so-subtle to give him a hand, or the girls in the brothels shouted temptations to him, he’d never had the courage. Always shied away from any kind of intimacy like that, even though part of him craved it, and wanted to feel that connected to a human being. Wanted to feel that sheer bit of pleasure that could only be attained with someone else there.

He was a more worthy of the title ‘coward’ than ‘prince’.

But tonight, again, he was relieved.

Illyria was beautiful, there was no doubt to that fact. And she was as sweet a girl as any, with a reputation for being one of the kindest royals in the heart of the city, but Liam didn’t have any underlying desire to be so exposed to her. To let her see him, in all his inexperience.

He looked nice enough, sure. Maybe a little plain, he thought, but he had some bulk and muscle to him, and he was alright enough, face-wise. But he wasn’t confident enough to perform. Not yet.

“I’m soft in spirit.” Liam mumbled as they made their way up the stairs. “And soft in the bedroom. What a spectacle.”

He feels Illyria pause next to him, and it ruins their movements for a just a second when they almost stumble. “Gods, you did give him a lot to drink, didn’t you?”

Zayn shrugs. “He needed to relax, poor thing.”

“You’re hardly worthy of making that decision for him.” She clicked her tongue, just like Zayn always did.

Zayn smiles. Liam can see it from his peripheral vision. That secretive pull of his lips like he’s hiding something deep. “Sorry for stopping your wedding night short, sis.”

“Oh, you know me.” She sighs, leaning around Liam to give Zayn a look that he misses. “I always find a way.”

Liam feels his heart thud then, and he actually pulls back when they reach the bedroom door, shooting them both wide-eyed stares. He’s not sure if he’s asking to be rescued, or for an explanation.

“Not you, my sweet.” Illyria smiles, petting a hand down his cheek. “Don’t worry. You’ll sleep tonight.”

Liam actually feels his chest ache with relief, and stumbles forward when the bedroom door is opened, and he’s guided inside by a hand on his back. He can’t tell who it belongs to, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He barely even casts the room a real look, dimly lit in hearth fire, before collapsing on the bed, hugging one of the decorative pillows to his chest.

“Now that he’s taken care of,” Illyria sighs, running her fingers through her long black hair. “I have to take care of something else more pressing. Make sure he’s tucked in?” She says to Zayn, before disappearing out the door from which they came.

Zayn laughs discreetly behind his fist, and wonders what kind of joke he’s missed. He forgets to care when Zayn comes in closer though.

He feels the laces on his boots being tugged and pulled, and then he’s wearing no shoes at all, because Zayn’s sat on the bed, helping undress him.

His dark hair is hanging limp in his face, along with the careful layer of scruff on his jaw. Liam wishes he could pull off the unshaven look like that, but he looks too much like his father when he doesn’t shave, and that thought sits unpleasant in his stomach.

“You were looking forward to tonight, yes or no?” Zayn asks, eyes lifting to Liam’s as he moves, hands brushing up Liam’s legs, enough that it has his heart crawling into his throat when Zayn’s nimble fingers reach the laces on his breeches.

“What are you doing?” Liam asks. He feels alarmed then, enough so that he sits straight up, hands moving down to hold Zayn’s wrists, keeping him from moving any further.

Zayn’s eyelashes flutter when he blinks, and he tilts his head, giving Liam a timid smile. “I’m your squire, yes? I help you undress and dress all the time. Will you let me do my job now?”

Liam hesitates, and oh. Right. He slowly lets go of Zayn’s wrists, and folds his arms across his chest.

“Good.” Zayn smiles, pulling the laces until they’re loose, and he can pull the breeches down Liam’s legs, leaving him in his undergarments. Zayn’s seen him like this a thousand times before. “So, you were looking forward to this night, yes or no? You never answered, Liam.”

Liam shrugged, giving Zayn a tentative smile as he moved to sit up, leaning forward so that Zayn could undo the laces and buttons on his shirt. Too many buttons. “Would you begrudge me for saying that I’m kind of relieved?”

“Relieved that you can’t perform?” Zayn mused, pushing Liam’s shirt off his broad shoulders, eyes skating down his chest once. “Most men would not say such things.”

“I guess you’re right.” He mumbled, leaning back against the backboard when Zayn moved to grab his evening clothes. “Guess I’m not a very good man. Just like I’m not a very good prince.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Zayn hummed, sitting impossibly close to help get Liam’s arms into his shirt. Normally he had no issue changing on his own, and needed less assistance, but tonight, his arms just weren’t going where he wanted them to. He was thankful for Zayn picking up the slack. “Men have all different tastes. Sadly so few get to learn of those tastes. Do you see?”

Liam frowns a little, looking down to watch Zayn’s fingers work the lacings on his shirt. “Not really. What do you mean?”

Zayn shrugged. “Nothing really. Men like many things. You learn as you go along.” He spoke, eyes looking up to give him a smile, although they’re close enough that Zayn’s face looks a little blurred, so he has to stare longer, eyes lingering on his lips, to catch it.

“You’re not offended that I haven’t...haven’t…” He mumbled, “...had your sister, are you? I meant no offense.”

“You worry too much.” Zayn smiled, reaching up to squeeze one of his cheeks. “I take no offense to the fact that you haven’t slept with my sister.” He snorted, “And neither does she. Trust me on this.”

“Are you sure?” Liam asked, grabbing one of Zayn’s wrists again, but mainly because he could fit all his fingers around it, and he felt like it. “It’s her wedding night, I didn’t want to upset her.”

Zayn smiled, pulling his wrist from Liam’s grip. “She’s fine, trust me. She’s a girl of many tastes. And she won’t hold it against you, you know.”

“Okay.” Liam sighed, lifting his hips so Zayn could pull his pants on. “Zayn.”

“Yes, Liam?” Zayn asked, finishing up the last knot on his pants, before letting his hands rest on Liam’s knees.

Liam paused, licking his lips. “I, uh. You got me drunk.”

Zayn grinned a little, scrunching one shoulder up in a defeated shrug. “I’ve been caught, I see.”

“Do I act like my father when I’m drunk?” he asked after a moment, eyebrows drawing down.

Zayn’s expression softened, knowing well enough what he was asking. Zayn had never had a soft spot for the king, Liam knew. “Nothing like him, deary. You’re perfectly charming.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.” Zayn chuckled, pushing on the center of Liam’s chest to get him to lay down. “You must sleep this off, yes? Tomorrow will be better.”

Liam knew he got handsy when he was drunk, and he reached out to grab for one of Zayn’s wrists, testing the weight of the limb in his own. “I don’t think I’m ready to be married.”

Zayn smiled, “You’re almost twenty, you’re well at the age to be married, sir. Some might even consider you past the age of marriage.”

“You calling me old, Zayn?” Liam smirked, clicking his tongue like Zayn often did. “Not any way to treat your prince.”

“I didn’t say it, you did.” Zayn poked, looking as pleased with himself as usual as he pulled the blankets of fur and linen up Liam’s body to cover him. “Goodnight, my prince.”

Zayn looked at him a few seconds longer, just staring, and Liam could do not much more but stare back, eyebrows drawn together just slightly.

Finally Zayn stood, and left the room without so much as a glance as he closed the door. And for the first time that evening, Liam was left alone with the crackling from the fireplace, and the hum and steady flow of his thoughts.

****  
  


*****************************

****  
  


When Liam woke the next morning, he startled when a body next to him shifted.

His eyes opened wide then, coming to land on a very naked woman wide awake next to him. The furs did little to hide the parts of her that were normally covered, and Liam rolled away, shielding a hand over his eyes.

“I’m sorry, my lady, I didn’t realize- we….we didn’t…” he paused, swallowing heavily. “We didn’t do anything...did we?” He asked, a sense of dread filling his lungs, and making it hard to breathe.

Illyria sat up, the furs falling to expose her breasts completely, and Liam averted his eyes. “Do you normally sleep this way then, or…?”

“Sometimes.” She smiled, laying a hand on Liam’s forearm. “I’m sorry, my love, I should have gotten dressed. I hadn’t realized you were still afraid of the female form.” She said, voice quiet as she chuckled. She sounded teasing, like Zayn, but Liam felt more mocked in this instance.

“I’m not-...I’m not afraid, I-”

“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Say no more, it’s okay. Most men aren’t virginal when they marry, but I guess I found one of the lucky ones.” She smiled.

How was that luck, exactly? Inexperienced didn’t seem like a fun thing to be, especially not right now.

She crawled out of bed then, leaving Liam to contemplate his life, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was going to have to go to bed, and wake up with her every day for the rest of his life. And eventually, they were to produce an heir.

How that was even going to happen, Liam didn’t know.

A pretty girl, and he couldn’t even do what he was supposed to do in order to secure his future, and hold to the throne.

Some days, he didn’t really want it like he used to. Like when he was little, and wide-eyed, and all he ever dreamed was to sit the Iron Throne, and mould his fingers over the singed blades of a thousand men, all brought down in the name of dragon fire. Let someone else swoop in, and occupy the seat. It was a bloody uncomfortable seat, as it was.

His headache was back full-force this time, and Liam actually wanted to die when he finally stood. The change in altitude had him groaning, and clutching two fists to his head.

The memories from last night were garbled, he knew, but for some reason he had the sneaking suspicion that something had taken place in this bedroom last night. He glanced around, down at the crumpled sheets and furs, and around at the freshly lit hearth and the rosary beads hung off the door. They were for looks, but he knew he aunt was a superstitious woman, and hung them to ward off bad spirits.

Although it hadn’t seemed to help any. Liam’s wedding night wasn’t at all what he’d expected it to be.

It was all so...easy. Somehow.

Illyria let him take his time, without ever pushing him too far. He’d known Zayn longer, since she’d only taken a ship to Westeros about a year before the wedding itself, but he knew her well enough. They might’ve even been considered friends, but now he wondered whether or not he should be wary, and proceed cautiously.

“You look ill, my love. Rest for an hour more.” She said, voice sweet and soft, but too showy. He knew what her voice sounded like on any other occasion, biting and crass, but playful all at once. And this was her putting on a show for him. Easing him into it.

“Can’t.” He mumbled, struggling to find a pair of breaches appropriate for today’s work, which involved a whole lot of sitting around, so he figured it wouldn’t be too taxing. He’d have to wear something a little nicer. “I’ve got council today. My fath- the King is having me attend council meetings now. Says I’ll have to learn how to handle the locals, and such.”

Despite how much he wanted to say screw it, and curl back up into the warmth of his bed, where he can pretend that everything is the way it should be, back to normal, but he can’t.

He laced his clothes, glaring curiously at the door.

Zayn hadn’t shown up at all this morning. As far as he was aware, anyway.

He finished dressing himself in relative silence while Illyria pulled her hair back into a decadent white net, adorned with small rubies.

He left without so much as a goodbye, sucking in deep gulps of air as his legs numbly carried him through the castle courtyards, passing women in peachy day dresses, while they spattered gossip behind the palms of their hands. Sometimes he really hated the public.

He pushed through the heavy oaken doors that led into the council room. The Throne stood ahead, blunt and ugly like a scab, yet somehow so cherished and lusted after. It was a hunk of metal in front of him, but in the dim silence, it seemed like a whole other entity with thoughts and feelings of its own.

His father sat below, crowned not only by the crown that sat atop his head, but also by the fan of blades pointed skyward that acted as a back to the throne. He’s slouched, and looking weary of everything, just as he always did.

He slowed as he approached the council chamber, the one used at the feast last night for close friends and family only, and took his seat next to the king.

“Father.” He said, nodding his head curtly at the man.

His father eyed him carefully, the rosiness of his cheeks from last night completely gone, replaced with pale and unfeeling. “Son.” He grunted, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “After this session, I must have a few words with you.” He spoke, lips pulling down every so slightly. Distaste.

Liam nodded, and dried his palms on his nice breeches, ignoring the sense of foreboding that fell over him.

A few other council members joined them later, one much younger than the rest, but still older than Liam by a year. Fair-haired, and nice enough, it seemed.

“So, married life. Stick it in her, already?” Niall jested, one corner of his lips pulling back into a grin. “My sources tell me no. And your face tells me no. Couldn’t get it up? ‘S okay, man. Happens to the best of us. I mean, not me. But sometimes when a man loves a women very mu-”

“Shut up.” Liam snapped, face going stark red as he held a hand up to Niall’s mouth. “‘S none of your business.”

And that was the thing about Niall too.

He knew fucking everything.

Whether it was common knowledge, or your deepest, darkest secret, Niall probably knew it. So maybe Liam shouldn’t have been too surprised to discover that yeah. Him not sleeping with his own wife might catch the council member’s attention.

“You’re right. I’ve got the foot-in-mouth syndrome, you know?” Niall bumped his elbow leaning over to grab a sealed document from beside the king. “Real hinderance, although it’s surprisingly amazing on my sex life, I tell ya.”

“Please. Don’t.” Liam groaned, nose wrinkling up in disgust. If his father weren’t here, he’d be banging his head on the table until he could see stars, but his father was here, and he could hear the chatter of city members gathered outside the hall. Miniscule little voices, all lined up single file to see the king, angry about one issue or another.

Liam didn’t blame them. This capital, and heart of Westeros was in shambles. Where Liam was privileged enough to eat well every day, as much as he wanted, many were not so fortunate. Disease, crime, and poverty were of the utmost concerns, and yet somehow getting the least amount of attention.

City member after city member came in, each more disheveled and weary than the last, and each vocalized complaint ended in promises that were so empty that Liam began to see why no uprisings had taken place.

The council gave the impression that they cared, and they played their parts well, Liam thought, but nothing would be done, and these people would go back to the their shambled homes, and their hungry children, and wait for the king to spread his generosity.

Maybe providing hope was relief enough in some sense. It left something bitter on Liam’s tongue though, and maybe this was the first time he was wishing for sweet wine to wash that taste down, and shackle that feeling of guilt before it got too out of control.

It wasn’t until the last visit that Liam actually tuned in a little more.

A man, stout and bald, waddled to stand in front of them all and present himself, hands folded neatly in front of him.

“State your name and business for the court.” The king spoke, temple resting against his fist as he shifted to find a comfortable position where the metal didn’t bite flesh.

“Yes, sorry. I am Roman Pious.” He spoke, voice soft and delicate. “I’ve come to discuss the coming Autumn.”

“Autumn.” Greyson repeated on the other side of the king. He was a middle-aged widow, his children having been burned alive in a siege against the Vale. His face was dripping with a scowl. “We don’t sit to discuss the changing colors of the leaves. While that’s all very exciting, we ask that you ponder that sort of thing alone.”

“I believe I’ve given the wrong impression.” Roman chuckled, arms folding across his chest. “It’s not so much an issue with leaves, as it is with the harvest.”

“Highgarden. Yes.” The king spoke, waving a hand. “With limited time, you need to get to the point a little faster.”

“Of course, your grace.” He cleared his throat, all delicate and summer soft. “You are aware the billions accumulated in debt, I’m sure. Kind of hard to miss that. The point is, is that with the summer ending much sooner than anticipated, and your debts never having been paid, ironically, Highgarden is threatening to cut your supply of food. This is not only devastating since our markets will crash, but our people will starve. Supplies are all but dwindling, and my daughters are getting colder. I-”  
  


“We don’t need a sob story.” Greyson sniffed, eyebrow raised defiantly. “Relations with other cities are being dealt with. However, we cannot disclose when and how we’ll go about dealing with that sort of issue, as it does not concern you.”

“I argue that it does. I run a produce market, one of many, and-”

“Do not interrupt.” The king held his hand up, and the bald man quieted like he’d been struck. “This is not news. It’s an issue we’ve been dealing with for quite some time, and you must trust that we’ll deal with it when and how we see fit. Anything else?”

Pious kneaded his hands together, and stared him down, head cocked over to one side. “I suppose not.” He spoke finally, fingers trembling. “Thank you for your time, your grace.”

They watched him hobble down the archway, until he was out of sight, before Liam stretched his legs, and Niall clapped him on the arm. “That’s what happens when you don’t find somewhere to put it. You start worrying about the fucking plants.”

“Which is a concern if you ever want to eat again, Mr. Horan.” The king spoke up, eyes narrowed as he stood from the throne, looking wearier than when he’d sat upon it three hours before. “You may leave us. Liam, sit.”

Liam watched Niall leave, wishing for all the world in that moment that he could be him, and waltz around like he fucking owned the place.

He took his spot once again, and cleared his throat before meeting his father’s eyes. “Sir.” He acknowledged.

“Enough.” The king waved a hand. “You think I don’t know what happened last night? I know what happened.”

Liam felt his face go hot suddenly. “Dad, I-”  
  


“You will call me Your Grace, or you call me nothing, do you understand me?” His voice boomed down the empty archways, but Liam felt like there were a million sets of eyes on him anyway. “Answer. Now. You’re not eleven anymore, Liam. You’re a man, so fucking act like one.”  
  


“Yes. Your Grace.” Liam answered automatically, voice and brain going on autopilot. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I don’t care what you meant.” He hissed, poking his index finger hard into Liam’s chest. “This whole goddamn city is talking up a storm about you. How you can’t get it up. Can’t fuck your wife right. It’s fucking sick, do you get that? That you’re not even really a man yet? You’ve embarrassed me.”

Liam feels his heart drop into his stomach. He hadn’t found it to be all that big of a deal, but in the eyes of a king, it looked different apparently.

“You’re a spectacle. And worse, you’ve made me a spectacle. I’ve got councilmen asking me if you suffered an accident, or were born impotent.” He snorted, slamming his palm down on the table. “Along with a shit list of other theories they’ve come up with. Do you like embarrassing me? Is this fun for you?”

“No, your grace.”

“I suspect not, but you’ve got so many other shortcomings that I wonder if it’s not your goal to make our lineage look like a joke. Your mother only became bedridden after she gave birth to you, so maybe you’re the bad seed. Your sisters are off and married, with children and loved ones, and here you are.”

“I’m sorry, I-” Liam paused, swallowing back the tears he can feel back there, just on the brim and about to spill over. But crying would only make things worse, he knew. He didn’t cry too often, but something in his dad just opened the floodgates. “I know I shouldn’t have let you down, and I’ll work to try and not let that happen.”

“That’s right. You’re going to work every goddamn day. Bed your wife, for starters. Plant a son in her belly, keep the line going so we don’t look like fucking idiots, you got me?”

“I understand, your grace.”

“Good.” The king seemed to relax a little, but Liam still feels like he’s been struck, and beaten down. His ears are ringing, and maybe he shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. Reported in ill. Something.

Getting this kind of talk from your father at nineteen, almost twenty, felt like a slap on the wrist with a barbed ruler. With all his shortcomings, his shoulders felt extremely heavy with the weight of the guilt. Letting his father down, not being a better man. His sisters were more fit to rule than he was, and they were miles and miles away.

“This issue with Highgarden is something we’ve been tinkering over for a while. It’s nothing knew.” The king spoke, eyes glazed over, scratching his fingers through the thinning beard on his chin. “We’re in the stages of addressing it now.”

Liam nodded, head bowed with his hands held calmly at his sides. “What does that mean for us?”

“Means we’ve got to kiss the arses of those highborn fruits.” The king spat wetly on the floor, and Liam looked away, nose wrinkling up just the slightest. “The hussies down in Flea Bottom have been coming to council for weeks, and it seems that summer is actually ending. We’ll be starved out before the end of winter, it’s sure.”

Liam swallowed. He’d seen the devastating effects of hunger. Couldn’t imagine suffering it himself. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re to travel Highgarden.” The king spoke, meeting Liam’s eyes to give him a cold stare. “And play nice. Secure our future so we don’t die starving in our beds, understand?”

“Yes.” Liam nodded at once. “Your grace.”

“Good.” The king lifted the crown from his head, dropping it heavily onto the table where it clattered before stilling. “I’ve had your squire-”

“-Zayn-”

“-Malik,” A look of irritation crossed over his weathered, pale face, “-gather some of your things together. The cooks, a handful of smiths, as well as a small fleet have already started the trek up. They’re to have everything prepared for us upon arrival. Your mother, unfortunately, too sick to travel, will remain here. Your Uncle Marren will accompany the Malik girl, myself, and you on our journey up.”

Liam bit his tongue this time, stoutly avoiding the fact that “the Malik girl” happened to be the future queen and his wife, much to his father’s dismay. He knew his father’s grudge with Dorne natives, but it was petty to hold such prejudices, Liam thought.

He would die bitter.

“We leave tonight, while the city sleeps.” The king voiced, breaking Liam out of his head. “Or fucks.”

“Why tonight? So soon.” Liam asked, voice quiet and hesitant, but curious above all means.

“Summer’s not getting longer, have you gone deaf too?” His father spat, weight shifting from leg to leg.

He’s nervous.

“The sooner things are patched up, the easier we can sleep.” He explained, cheeks rosy from the labor of standing for so long. “I’ll send for you when I need you. Leave me be.”

Liam nodded curtly, turning on his heel. He had no desire to stay a moment longer.

The word “fuck” didn’t roll off the King’s tongue like it rolled off of Zayn’s. When his father said it, it sounded dirty in just the wrong way. Like an oily layer of grime that refused to wash away, but off of Zayn’s tongue, it sounded sultry. Like he was the only person who could make that vulgarity sound appealing in the slightest.

And of course there was Louis, where the word fell off his lips smooth like butter without sounding the slightest bit awkward. It was just in his normal vocabulary.

He gave one last sweeping look around the sun-bleached courtyard, seeing a flurry of eyes of strange women and younger men, still gangly and training in combat, look to him as he took careful steps back to his chambers. Like they were being discreet.

I’m a spectacle.

He kept his chin tilted up a little bit higher, jaw clenched as his mind tried to wrap around the fact that he’d spend the better part of a week on the road. With his father. Alone with his wife.

Alone without Zayn.

It’s a scenario that has his gut twisting, and while the Kingsguard stood by, waiting to give their lives for the King-to-be, Zayn kept him safe in other ways. Without him, like the shield he was, Liam felt exposed. Maybe it was melodramatic to miss his best friend this much. Liam was full of mixed emotions today.

The sky was in streaks of candy pink, and soft orange, and Liam stopped under one of the archways to fold his arms around himself, head resting against stone. It wouldn’t be long now.

****  
  


****************************

****  
  


The further their riding party ventured, the more evident it became that the roads were becoming far less safe than they’d been only a handful of years before.

No immediate threats to the king’s life, to the relief of all, and the entirety of the realm, according to Liam’s uncle, but by the time they’d reached the pastures and plots that stretched for miles beyond the walls of Highgarden, they’d lost about a quarter of their party. Some people got lost along the way, as it always seemed to happen, but others had met more gruesome ends to rogue wolves as big as men, or small, minisicule bands of raiders that snagged one or two of their men before being shot down with arrows.

The sun shone a bit warmer here, Liam noticed, and even the pastures seemed to reach towards the rays of warmth and deep blue of the sky above.

The vineyards to their right were practically illuminated, with flushed violet grapes catching the light from above, and the air smelt sweet like squash and every kind of sweet, summer fruit, rich and fragrant, and almost dizzying.

“It’s beautiful here.” Illyria whispered next to him, turning to Liam with a fond smile. “I’ve never been so far from your home.”

“It’s your home too now.” Liam shrugged, staring straight ahead. Days without a proper shower, and an actual bed to sleep on had left his mood soured, and the closer they got to tall, stone city in front of him, the more anxious he felt about getting some actual alone time.

Illyria wrapped the reins of her horse around her wrist, giving careful tugs as their party slowed the closer they got. Foot traffic always slowed things down. “Not a home to me like it is to you. It lacks culture. Hides behind brothels and savage soldiers.”

“Uh huh.” Liam mumbled. He sounds crass and rude, but he’s had about as much as he can take. The way her comments are just on the wrong side of mockery, and meant to embarrass him in just the slightest way. It rubs him wrong, and he can’t stand anyone else’s company right then either.

His uncle’s too sunny all the time, with quick punches to Liam’s shoulders, and smiles that are too big and sticky to be real.

His father’s the same as always. Cold as the iron that makes his throne.

Louis’ just a miserable, riding beside him on a horse that’s near death itself, and when Louis gets irritated, it’s best to stay away.

“Something wrong, my love?” He hears her voice next to him over the clicking of horse hooves, and turns to give her a dull look. “You look absolutely worn. Getting you in bed early tonight.” She mumbles, reaching out to brush a hand over his cheek.

He takes it for a second or two, before ducking out of the way of her hand. She’s sweet, but it’s so obviously put on. Does she think he’s that daft that he doesn’t notice?

If Zayn goes through life pretending like she does, then he’s a better actor by far.

He stiffens, and licks moisture into his lips. “I’m fine. Sore from riding.”

“That’s not always a bad problem to have.” She cooes, and he can tell what she’s insinuating, but he’s just not in the mood for that kind of talk. Now, or ever really.

He’s silent for the rest of the ride, as is most of their caravan, because Highgarden is as beautiful as Liam’s heard. The stone of the looming city, built up on an incline angled towards the castle that’s the heart of the city, is soft grey like rain clouds before a drizzle, but it’s luminescent in the sun. He can see the traffic of people moving in and out of the fields, arms laden with citrus and squashes ripe to bursting, all in a manner of undress, or leisure.

The gates are opening already to welcome them in, and Liam can hear the guards from atop the wall shouting commands to one another, before standing by on watch while the King’s party files into the city. They all ache for the relief of civilization, Liam can tell, and he’s one of them.

Children run, playing and laughing shrilly along the roads, or playing knights and castles, while couples walk arm in arm, gazes fond. Poverty hasn’t seemed to touch this land quite like it had the capital, and there’s hardly a soul in sight who looks as if they hadn’t fed that day.

And that’s how it ought to be. A city providing that kind of relief and safe haven for the people barricaded inside, although no one looked in a great rush to leave.

Doors of copper and steel radiate brightly in the summer heat, engraved and etched with lilies and roses, and garbs of lavender silk wrap around women's bodies in the fashion of summer dresses.

“They’re said to be very kind.” Illyria whispered from his side, eyes darting every which way at once. “It’s the center of prosperity and youth. They grow food and life. And it is not the capital?”

“No.” Liam shook his head. “It’s not.” Although with the state of things, Liam wondered the same. Why a place that was so well put together could not serve as the center city, he didn’t quite understand.

King’s Landing was probably the most disorganized in the whole of this side of the world, and yet somehow so revered and envied. They held more power than they knew what to do with.

A guard ahead called for them to halt, and the horses and people on foot all slowly condensed while the people traffic beside them continued on like nothing. He watched his father dismount, and disappear somewhere ahead.

“What’s happening?” He turned to Louis then, who was cramped behind him on his own palfrey, eyes ridden with dark circles.

“How should I know? I’m back here with you, aren’t I?” He snapped, hands tightening around the reins. “Probably talking to uptight flowery fuck who remains the warden here.”

Liam smiled faintly, before turning his eyes back front.

“This is ridiculous.” Louis went on, whether or not anyone was listening, although Liam happened to be within earshot. “You’re probably going to get a bed made of naked women and fucking pansies, and I get to sleep--you guessed it--outside. In a tent. Not even in the castle walls. And I get to share my tent with a hedge knight named Cronkle who likes to piss only about five feet away from where we sleep. Isn’t that lovely?” He spat, lips curled up in distaste.

“If you stop throwing a hissy fit long enough, you’ll find that you do in fact have your own room.” Illyria commented, eyes narrowed as she stared back at Louis’ pointed features. “Kingsguard doesn’t sleep outside, and you’re lucky you’ve got the armor to prove your merit. You might just be mistaken for a sellsword otherwise.”

“So Liam here still hasn’t bedded you yet, has he?” Louis blinked, lips curling into a smile that’s meant to mock. “You’re both right pricks when you’re frustrated.”

Liam smiled, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was because her usually smiling face twisted up into something less fabricated, or because Louis just as himself amused him to no end. This kind of talk wasn’t tolerated by anyone but him, and Louis was smart enough to know that.

Liam’s steed jerked forward once when the throng of people began to move again, and when Liam looked back up, his father was back on his horse, looking only a little self-righteous with grin pricked on his face, cheeks rosy from the lambskin of wine he’d been drinking from all morning.

He could hear the civilians behind him being sectioned off, and assigned rooming arrangements, whether they were to stay in an inn, or with the rest of their fleet outside the walls.

Liam followed his father’s lead, while a singular knight escorted them deeper into the city, past markets and brothels that seemed to coexist in one singular space.

“We’re very fortunate to have you as our guests.” The knight spoke, turning back to shoot the king a smile, eyes landing on Liam at the last second. His eyes were bright blue, hair long and fair, and pulled back into a tight ponytail to keep it out of his face. A chunk of his ear was missing, the flesh scarred and mottled like it had been burned, but the rest of him seemed untouched, and even a little handsome. “It has been a while since we’ve gotten to treat a group such as yourself to what we have to offer, but we hope you’ll find it to your liking.”

“We’re here for business.” The king spoke, “But we appreciate your hospitality.”

“Well, when you wrote us that letter a fortnight ago, our lord protector was so eager to make the best accommodations for you. He’s very pleased you’ve arrived.”

“Not pleased enough to greet us, though.” The king eyed the knight for a moment.

“You will have to forgive him.” He answered. “Family matters take up the best of our time. He looks forward to you joining us at dinner, however.”

“And are you family, or just his messenger?”

“Oh, just the messenger. He raised me as his own, though. His son Harry and I have played together since we were children.” He boasted, giving Liam an offsetting smile. “He’s grown into a fine young man.”

The king grunted, tying his cloak tighter around his thick neck. “And where are we to be set up for the evening?”

“There’s a tower just inside the castle walls. Big enough to house all of you comfortably, I hope.”

The king grunted again, coughing wetly into a handkerchief. Liam wrinkled his nose and looked away.

The rest of the ride was spent listening to the fair-haired knight boast about his time growing up, surrounded by wealth and opportunity, although Liam stopped listening after mentions of sorcerers, and stories that only the best bullshitter could fabricate.

If the city itself was beautiful, although Liam missed much of it, eyes glossed over with exhaustion and trepidation. The climb up the mountainous pillar to his chambers took more out of him than he’d have liked, and what he wanted more than anything was five minutes to himself. With Illyria right on his heels, he doubted he’d get such refuge.

The room itself was lovely. Open airspaces, lavish furnishings done in beiges and reds. A living space was set up to his right, a flagon of wine and nourishment set out for his leisure. The bed was draped in canopy, the sheets so red, they were almost black, big enough for two and more.

“They really go all out for company.” She smiled, knocking her hip against Liam’s trunk that had already been brought up for him. “Fancy a walk with me, deary? We can talk.”

Liam opened his mouth to speak, faltering when he spotted the copper basin for bathing in the far corner. It was concealed by a screen, but the lip was peeking out enough that Liam could spot the water that filled it, still steaming madly.

“I’m staying in for the day.” He explained, turning back to her. “You go ahead without me.”

“Are you sure?” She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t mind staying in with you.”

He swallowed his guilt back and shook his head. “No, please. I don’t mind. It’s...it’s a beautiful day. You shouldn’t have to stay inside.”

Her rose red lips pulled up into a startling smile, “Thank you. I’ll be back before the sunset.” She spoke, tugging her shawl off, and setting it on the bedspread, before setting off.

Liam sighed when she was out of sight, and he could no longer hear her steps down the hall. His shoulders slumped forward, and he loosened the laces on his shirt, all the while venturing slowly towards the basin.

Around the screen, the water was as it was, clouds of steam floating from the surface of the ripples. Petals from hydrangea flowers sprinkled the surface here and there, and when he leaned forward, he caught scents of lemon and lavender. Oils.

His eyes flickered to the pile of clothes set aside, and folded neatly and crisp, ready for wear.

He frowned, and folded his arms across his chest.

He didn’t suppose that any palace official would have prepared something like this just out of the kindness of their heart. He sucked on his bottom lip, and glanced around towards the balcony. Searching.

“About damn time.”

Liam spun around, eyes going towards the source of that voice. He found Zayn leaning up against the doorway, exposed forearms crossed over his chest.

He was wearing a button shirt, the first few undone and leaving the top part of his chest exposed. His breeches were simple, casual, and clung to his legs loosely. And he looked overall ready for a night in, just like being back home.

“I can only go as fast as the caravan allows me, you know.” He smiled, wryly. Too happy to be in his company again. “I’m guessing this is your work.” He added, head tilting towards the tub once.

Zayn’s eyebrows drew together some when he smiled, all too teasing, but never meant to slight him. “Just didn’t want to have to smell you after your long journey, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that.” He looked down, quirking a smile when he scratched the back of his neck. “And please, I can’t be that bad.”

“Relax. I only tease because I care.” He quirked a smile, venturing in further, but not before shutting the door behind him. “Let me help you get in. I know you’re weary from riding.”

Liam raised an eyebrow, before nodding contemplatively. “I suppose so. I’m more wearier of other people right now, than I am riding.”

“Oh?” Zayn arched an eyebrow, stepping in close so that they were face to face, stood only a couple inches apart. “Want me to leave you alone then?” He asked, eyes holding Liam’s while he undid the laces on his shirt that extended only about a third of the way down the fabric.

“No.” Liam shook his head. “You’re about the only person I’m actually pleased to see right now.”

“I’m flattered, Liam.” He spoke, lips twitching into a smirk. “Did my sister fare well on the trip?”

Liam sighed, lifting his arms a few inches when Zayn pulled the hem of his shirt up. He shifted back a little when Zayn’s fingers slipped, and brushed across his lower stomach instead. It happened again, just a careful brush of cold fingers over warm skin, before Zayn went back to the task at hand, pulling Liam’s shirt up and off.

That couldn’t have been accidental. His stomach muscles tightened a little, because he could still feel the cold glow of his fingers there.

“She was fine.” Liam spoke, taking a careful breath when he looked back up to meet his gaze. “Surprisingly chipper the whole time.”

“She’s strong-willed. Nothing gets to her too much.” Zayn smiled, pulling Liam in closer by the waistline of his pants to the point where their hips were almost touching.

Liam swallowed again, feeling the material hugging his waist get looser and looser the more Zayn unlaced, and soon enough they were in a pool at his feet. He stepped out of them, and took a couple steps toward the bath.

“Still having an issue getting it up for her? So to speak.”

Liam couldn’t see him, as he had his back turned, but he knew he was smiling, entirely pleased with himself.

“Kind of.” he admitted, frowning.

He felt hands slide over his hips, before cold fingertips slid underneath his undergarments just a centimeter or so. He whirled around, taking a step away from the Dornishman.

“Relax, queenie. I was just helping you with your undergarments.” Zayn laughed, hands reaching out again.

Liam caught him by the wrists, keeping them from moving any farther. “I’ve got it.” He spoke, eyes gazing unwaveringly against Zayn’s, dark like raw honey.

“As you wish.” Zayn answered, but Liam’s hands wouldn’t let go. His fingers dug tightly into Zayn’s wrists, before his wits caught up to him and he let go.

He turned away, face hot, before undressing that last bit of clothing concealing him, dropping it off to the side.

Zayn came up behind him to pick them up while Liam stuck a foot in the water, and then the other, wincing at the extreme warmth that crawled up his skin.

“So, is it her, or is it you? Just nervous because you haven’t done anything like that, before.” Zayn explained, sitting on the lip of the tub while he began to fold Liam’s clothes, and set them in a bundle on the floor.

Liam groaned, slow and sweet the farther he submerged himself. The tension left his shoulders almost at once, followed by the rest, burning out of him. He couldn’t be embarrassed now. Not with the hot water dragging it out of him to float along the surface like the assorted oils.

“Not sure.” He mumbled, giving Zayn a sheepish look. “She’s lovely. It can’t be her.”

From where Zayn sat above him, he could smile down at the man in the water. His eyes skimmed the stretches of bare chest, which was all nicely defined muscle. Zayn cupped his hands in the water, and sprinkled it over Liam’s head, watching it dribble down his face, and hang off his lips.

“I won’t be upset if it is her. You can tell me Liam.” He chuckled, pouring more water down his scalp. “She’s my sister, and I love her, but I’ve lived with her all my life. I’m aware of some of the challenges that come with it.” he smiled.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to sleep with her, and have her children.”

Zayn scrunched his nose up, and shook his head from side to side. “Don’t even plant that little idea into the universe. I’m aware that I don’t have to sleep with my sister, and nor do I have any desire to.” He laughed wryly, thumb brushing over a shiny droplet of water left on his lips.

Liam stared, chest lifting up and down with his elevated breaths. The touch was small, but it made him feel like he’d caught fire. It had been such a short moment that a part of him wonders if maybe it hadn’t happened at all.

They’re not affectionate with each other. The idea was out of the realm of imagination. Men just didn’t treat other men with that kind of attention. At least not where Liam came from.

“You’ve never been with anyone? Physically, like that?” Zayn blinked, dipping his fingers into the water for a brief moment.

Liam shook his head, something in his groin stirring a little. He shifted, and crossed his legs. “No. I guess that’s what I should have been doing, right? Can’t say I’ve gotten much of an opportunity, though.” He murmured, blinking up at Zayn.

“You’re lovely to look at, I find that hard to believe, Liam.” Zayn smiled, flicking water droplets in Liam’s face.

He flinched, and licked the droplets when they rushed down his lips. They usually bounced insults and jokes off each other all the time, but Liam couldn’t even find the right words. Zayn’s comments had his head going fuzzy, and he shifted again, clearing his throat.

“Well. Believe it.” He smiled wryly, dropping his head to stare at his reflection in the surface. “Besides, I mean. Yeah, I hear about sex all the damn time. Know enough about it, I suppose. Still feel like I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“It’s easy once you get the rhythm down. Find what the other person likes to keep them pleased.” Zayn smiled, brushing his hand up Liam’s chest, dragging water over the skin that was above the water level.

Liam stared down at that hand, and the way those fingers dragged nimbly across the expanse of pectoral muscle, and coarse hairs. And the way his chest rose and fell the more Zayn touched him.

He looked back up into his eyes, and cocked his head over to one side. He didn’t deny those small touches. Not when they had his stomach fluttering, and sending heat traveling all the way down his midsection. It created a slow burn in his chest, like any more contact from him was somehow only good.

“When was your first time then?” Liam asked, leaning his head back against the lip of the basin. “You’re too cocky about all this, so I’m assuming you’ve had a first time.”

“I have.” Zayn smiled, fingers dragging up to brush the underside of Liam’s jaw. “And I had my first time when I was fifteen.”

Liam’s eyebrows arched up. “You were in King’s Landing with us. Who was it?” He asked, suddenly pressing to know.

Zayn’s eyes flicked towards the ceiling, and he shrugged. “Some sellsword that came with the northernmen. Handsome bloke. Only okay in bed, sadly.” He clicked his tongue, thumbing across Liam’s chin then.

Liam’s too relaxed to protest, but also too curious to know whether the burn in his chest will start to fade the longer Zayn keeps doing this, or if his body will only react more.

And then he actually rewinds Zayn’s words in his head.

“A man.” He stammered out, staring at him incredulously. “You’ve slept with a man.”

Zayn’s eyebrows crinkled in the center, but he nodded, scrutinizing Liam’s facial expressions carefully. “Yes. I have. Many times.” It’s said with such an air of ease, that Liam actually feels kind of ignorant for asking such a thing.

“A man.” Liam repeats, pulling away just a touch.

Zayn’s hand falters on his skin, just beneath his ear, and he rolls his eyes. “You can’t tell me you’re shocked, Liam.” He smiled, giving his cheek a playful, only slightly condescending pat. “You’re so sweet still.”

Liam brushed his hand away to fix him with a colder stare. “I am shocked. I think it’s my right to know when my page goes off, and invites strange men into his bed.”

“If it is my bed, as you say, why do you care?” Zayn arched an eyebrow, letting his hand drop. “It’s not as if it affects you.”

“But you’re just...you’re just okay with that. Touching a man like that, being that intimate. You don’t have any desire for women?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t have a desire for women. To me, there are just as many appealing qualities about the opposite sex as there are in members of our own sex.” Zayn shrugged. “Why deny myself one piece of the spectrum? And are you really one to point fingers when you yourself are unable to get hard for your brand new bride?” Zayn’s lips quirked up slightly.

Liam flushed red, embarrassed. He sat up, a scowl setting over his face. “You’ve got no place to say that to me. I’m your-”

“You’re my friend, don’t say anything you’ll regret.” Zayn cautioned, eyes taking on a darker glint as he stared him down. “And don’t look so sad, Liam. My words weren’t meant to hurt.”  
  


“But they did.” Liam pointed out. “Insinuating that there’s something wrong with me like that? You’re my friend. Act like it.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Zayn said, voice a touch calmer. He reached out to hook a couple fingers under Liam’s chin, tipping his head up as he leaned in. “That frown has no place on a beautiful face.”  
  


Liam pulled out of his grip, and slid down so he could sink his head under the water. He needed to disappear into his own head for a minute.

The gentle throb in his lungs from the lack of oxygen began to take toll, and he broke the surface seconds later, taking a few heavy gulps of air. There’s water dripping from his hair, and clumping his eyelashes together, and Zayn’s still watching him, expression indecipherably blank.

“Feel a little better?”

“No.” Liam scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I just...I don’t think I understand. Why do you do that?”

“Sleep around, or sleep with people that also happen to have cocks?” Zayn mused.

Liam’s eyes screwed shut, and he shook his head. “The second one.”

“I already explained. There’s beauty in everyone, and I don’t see the value in ignoring all of my options.” He smiled. “Growing up in Dorne, my mother had always taught me the value of knowing myself. My kind, they don’t feel shame when it comes to sex, or sexuality. It’s simply not an issue.”

Liam listened. Zayn had only talked about his parents when he was drunk, which was rare and far between, so Liam soaked it up whenever he got the chance.

“Yes, but-” He cut off, blinking the water drops from his eyes. “I mean...how does that work. Two guys.”

Zayn only had to give him a look, one that asked if Liam was actually that fucking stupid, or just clueless.

“Nevermind, I think I’ve got it.” Liam waved the question off. “Does it hurt?”

Zayn’s lips lifted thoughtfully. “If it’s not done right, yes. It can be painful. First times also tend to be painful, since it’s a new sensation.”

“And it was painful for you then.” Liam pointed out.

Zayn shrugged. “I’ve given and received. I tend to enjoy both very much.” He smiled.

Liam wrinkled his nose up. “No, I don’t need to know that.”

  
“Yet you’re inquiring about my bedtime activities with other men isn’t too much for you?”

Liam shrugged. “I don’t know.” It all sounded so odd in his ears. “Guess I’m just…intrigued. I’ve only ever heard of that sort of thing happening. I guess I never imagined.”

“That I’d be into it. Why?”

Liam shrugged again, resolutely staring down at his hands, and the way they furled and unfurled in the water. “You just seem so normal, is all.”

“Oh, and I suppose you mean to tell me that you’ve never looked at a man that way.” Zayn cocked an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe, Liam, even for you.”

“That I’ve never looked at another man, and felt anything sexual towards him.” He laughed derisively. “Not everyone’s the same.”

“That may be true.” Zayn shrugged. “And maybe I’m misjudging. Aren’t you even a little curious though? What it feels like?”

Liam stared up at him, startled. “Hand me my towel, please. I think I’m done.”

Zayn quirked an eyebrow, before standing and walking over to the screen divider. He pulled a towel from where it hung over the top of it, and walked back over, holding it out at an arm’s length.

Liam got out warily, his legs a little unsteady. His head is a jumble of thoughts that have his groin stirring, and his blood traveling down between his legs. He grabbed the towel, wrapping it around his waist in one quick swoop.

He tensed, not having to turn to know that Zayn was closing in from behind, standing close enough that Liam could feel his body heat, but not close enough to touch. Liam wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or not.

“Just know-” Zayn spoke, lips close to his ear, enough that he can feel warmth breaths against his skin. “-that if you ever need a hand, so to speak, I’m here for you. As your squire, it is kind of my job to take care of you.” He breathed, voice crooked. “It’d be purely to help, yes?”

Liam shivered, and stepped away, turning to plant a hand flat on Zayn’s chest. He held it for a moment, eyes locked on where their skin made contact, before giving him a nudge. Pushing him away.

  
“Leave while I dress. Please.” He mumbled.

Zayn peeled Liam’s hand from his chest, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the back of it. His eyes held Liam’s the whole time, eyelashes fanning across his skin.

“If that’s your wish.” He let go finally, and stepped out of Liam’s space, turning and leaving as he was told.

Liam was thankful when the door clicked shut behind him.

Down lower, he could feel his cock filling up, sitting half hard between his legs. He pushed it down, and closed his eyes, wishing it away.

It was wrong to let his mind wander with that proposal. Hard not to imagine what that would feel like, with Zayn’s words heavy in his ear, and not so many clothes between them.

He let his towel drop, and resumed getting dressed, lying to himself that it wasn’t Zayn who’d gotten him hard, or at least halfway there.

And it definitely wasn’t the memory of Zayn’s hands on him that had his cheeks burning.

****  
  


*****************************

****  
  


This feast was as loud as any other that Liam had attended. Something about royal gatherings, or guests apparently made everyone lose all inhibitions, and drink themselves into a stupor.

The people here were lovely, Liam thought. They dressed in the finer things, and looked as if they actually enjoyed everyday life. But right now, they blended in almost too well with the citizens of the capital. Rosy red cheeks, lips parted and mouths gaped into a permanent grin, laughing boisterously at one another. The wine flowed like water.

Liam was on his fourth glass almost, hardly having enough time to pay to his flagon with all the food filing from the kitchen.

Honeyed ham, heirloom tomatoes dipped in oils and seasonings, peach and rosemary turnovers, any kind of squash prepared in every kind of way.

The king himself was sat up at the table reserved for family and close relations, as well as family friends. Everyone important, really, which Liam definitely was not. The Lord Protector sat beside his father, head inclined as they conversed. With the noise level being so high, Liam could only see their lips moving, but couldn’t catch much else.

Liam was sat across from Louis at the second of four long narrow tables arranged in the dining all. Zayn was on his left, and thankfully, quiet as he picked at the salad on his plate.

Illyria hadn’t come back from her shopping excursion, it seemed, although Liam wasn’t complaining. Her sweet demeanor was too much for him right now. One more off-kiltered smile from her, and he might just fling himself from the tower balcony.

“We’re not rabbits. Why are there so many vegetables.” Louis mumbled, throwing a lettuce leaf onto Liam’s plate.

“They’re good for you. Stop being such a child.” Liam mumbled, scooting the lettuce leaf to the side.

“Fuck off, mum.” He grumbled, kicking Liam under the table.  
  


He felt Zayn stiffen next to him, and turned to find him staring across at Louis with an unreadable expression.

“I think I upset your guard dog.” Louis mock-whispered, giving Zayn a wry smile. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m keeping him safe.”

Zayn continued to stare, before giving Liam a look that was equally as blank. It reminded him so much of when Zayn was first sent to King’s Landing, not knowing an ounce of the common tongue. Twelve-year-old Liam had never understood why every comment he’d made towards Zayn went unanswered. He’d gotten a lot of blank stares like that before the little boy from Dorne was actually made to learn their language.

Liam swallowed, and went back to his plate.

“Do you see that nasty-arse fuck up there?” Louis asked, jutting his thumb over towards the King’s table.

Liam followed his direction to a boy, now obviously a man but not by much. Face still a little soft, but creased with a slight wrinkle on his forehead. He’s got a girl at his side who’s whispering into his ear, which must be something of amusement, because he laughs heartily every few seconds.

“Fucker talks with his mouth full. It’s disgusting.” Louis rolled his eyes, giving Liam a look. “Stay away from him.”

Liam blinked at the assertion. “So...you’ve met him then, or is this just something you’re judging based on where we’re sat?”

“Oh, no. I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Highgarden’s most cherished son. He’s gross.” Louis stabbed at a tomato.

“I’ve heard he’s quite charming, actually.” Zayn spoke up from beside Liam, causing him to tense inadvertently. “Quite generous as well. Helps out at the orphanage, shares his wealth, helps children train in melee and archery. Hot, too, by the looks of it.”

“Control your boy-servant, Liam. He’s forgetting his place.” Louis leaned across, eyes flicking over to Zayn at the last second.

Liam’s hands curled into fists on the table, nails digging in the fleshy parts of his palms. “He’s not a servant by any means. Not only do you have the audacity to disrespect him by saying that, but you’re also disrespecting me. Watch your mouth.” His face portrayed the severity of his words well enough.

Louis ducked his head, eyes on his plate. Knows he’s done wrong.

Louis doesn’t apologize, Liam knows. But he also knows that the pouty, childish grimace on his face conveys enough of an apology that he lets it drop.

Zayn and Louis had never quite seen eye to eye. It’s just about keeping them away from each other's’ throats at this point.

“Why do you concern yourself with him anyway? It’s not like you’ll have to interact with him in the near future.” Liam asked, sitting back, away from his plate.

“Because. I ran into him on the way back from escorting your little wife off on her shopping excursion. And you know what he said to me?” Louis blinked, leaning across to jab his index finger on the table. “After ogling, mind you. He actually had the balls to ask if I’d ever considered brothel work with an arse like mine. He’s a fucking prick.”

Zayn laughed, loud and boisterously next to Liam, jostling the tankard in his hands. Liam let a smile slip behind the lip of his cup, because the sound of his laughter actually has his stomach swooping like that sound is the best thing he’s heard all year. Zayn doesn’t emote much, and when he does, Liam’s always there to catch it.

“Sounds like an alright guy.” Zayn grinned, head cocking to the side. “Got your undies all in a bunch, didn’t he?”

“That’s extremely inappropriate. I’m a knight in the Kingsguard, you don’t just let shit like that spew from your mouth. I don’t care what he looks like.”

“So you admit that he’s got a pretty face.” Zayn deadpanned, blinking innocently.

“Yeah, he’s stupidly pretty. Emphasis on stupid.” Louis wrinkling his nose up when his eyes flicked towards the ceiling.

“So you saw her today?” Liam asked curiously.

Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “Saw who?”

“My wife.” Liam emphasized. “She went out hours ago, I thought she’d be back for dinner.”

Louis shrugged. “And I’m supposed to know where she is? She said she wanted privacy, so I gave it to her. I was tired of carrying her possessions anyway.”

Liam blinked. “So no one has any idea where she is, then. No one.”

Louis shrugged again, shoulders scrunching up. “One of the other guards is probably with her. We work in shifts so we don’t fizzle out before we’re old and grey.”

Liam jolted when he felt a hand drop down to his thigh. It was under the table, concealed so that is was unlikely that anyone else would’ve seen, but Liam felt exposed, like he was calling for attention on him this way.

“She’s fine.” Zayn murmured, giving his thigh a little squeeze. It’s a gentle gesture, something that Zayn does often enough that it’s not meant to be significant, but it feels like there’s meaning behind it. Maybe he’s delusional enough to convince himself of that now. Liam’s weak-willed enough that it’s not entirely unimaginable.

“How do you know? It already looks bad that she’s not here.” Liam spoke, hushed, and close to Zayn’s ear.

“Is it her you care about, or your image?” Zayn frowned slightly. He waved a hand in front of Liam’s face, eyelids sweeping shut for a moment. “Nevermind. But I know she’s okay. She’s strong, and she’s also curious. Westeros is new to her, it’s her opportunity to explore. Let her.”

Liam nodded, and Zayn nodded back, hand moving up on his thigh, and squeezing again. Liam swallowed, because the air felt sticky when Zayn got this close, and his skin burned, even through the stiff material of his breeches. Those hands were warm tonight; warm from a few drinks, Liam realized.

“Have you two mastered silent communication, or do you just find each other’s faces really interesting? Zayn’s not that pretty.”

Zayn, facing Liam fully still, smirked, and pulled away to lean back in his seat, although his hand remained where it was, fingers digging into skin like he needed something still.

The blaze from three separate hearths lit the room in a dim glow while the sun set outside. Smoky incense gave the atmosphere a thick, sickly sweet fragrance, and the noise escalated from a dull roar, to something a little shriller. The music had long since stopped while voices took their place, and Zayn’s hands still burned on his leg.

Maybe he should have pulled away, because the intent that was there felt a little less innocent with everything that had unfolded. His thumb was drawing circles over and over, before turning to figure eights, and dangerously close to slipping closer to his inner thigh. The area was sensitive when another touched him there.

His body gave a noticeable shiver when lips brushed over the shell of his ear, the way Zayn liked to get his attention so often.

“What.” He asked, pulling away some to look at him, his face hazy in the glow.

“Can I be bold-” Zayn spoke, pushing Liam’s chin to the side so he could whisper in his ear again. “And say something?”

Liam has a feeling that what he wants to say isn’t something that can be voiced out loud in a room full of people, but something in him has him dying to know. Wants to know what his words will make him feel this time, so he leans in closer, and nods. “You may.”

Zayn didn’t say anything for several minutes, just hovering, hand moving up and down his thigh in slow brushes, stopping just a little higher than he’d ever dared to broach. It had Liam shifting, pulling his chair a little in to the table.

“I’ve wanted to put my hands on you all night.” Zayn whispered finally, and the tip of his nose touches Liam’s cheek bone. “Alone. I want to get you alone.”

Liam’s face goes hot, but it’s hard to tell, because his blood his rushing downwards, pooling low in his groin, and making his prick twitch uncomfortably in his trousers. He thinks how long it’s been since he’s gotten a hand around himself. It’s been ages.

He takes a slow, shallow breath, and inclines his head a few degrees. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“But you think about it sometimes, yes?” Zayn says, and his breath tickles Zayn’s cheek. “Or am I the only one? I don’t dub you a liar often, but…”

He chuckles against Liam’s ear, and Liam’s eyes shut, stinging just slightly from the amount of smoke in the air.

He opens them seconds later, and goes to reply, but Zayn’s already pushing away from the table, returning to a standing position. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll go to bed if you trust me.” He hums, lips curling like fog in the corners, before he’s leaving the dining hall, chair still pushed out.

When Liam looks across, Louis’ gone as well, and he’s alone. Again. He stares off over at his father again, head ducked in conversation, and Liam can tell he’s drunk again, because his cheeks are bright red, just like Liam’s when he’s had a few too many.

He wouldn’t be missed, he thinks. And he wants to catch up to Zayn. Demand an explanation, or something. He wants to do something.

He pushes away from the table as well, with courtesy enough to push his own chair in, dropping his napkin on the table. He drops his head when he walks, and narrowly avoids a grape that’s flying towards him, but he can’t exactly locate who threw it.

As soon as the cool  outside air touches his face, he feels sobered up and relaxed almost immediately. He made sure to school his drinking, only having had a few cups, but he wanted to be clear-headed more than anything right now.

He made a quick trip of making his way back to the tower, shoulder his way past the guards outside, and took the winding steps two at a time. He was a little out of breath when he finally reached the landing to his room.

The door was already slightly ajar when he got there, and he knew it wasn’t Illyria’s doing. Wherever she was, anyway.

He pushed it open, and it turned his back to the figure on the bed when he closed, and latched the door shut behind him.

“You’re not kicking me out?” Zayn quipped from the bed, leaning back on his hands, while his legs crossed. “I figured you’d want sleep.”

“Then why are you here?” Liam asked, turning finally. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly when his fingers caught a tangle. He didn’t usually let his hair get long enough to be curly, and time seemed to get away from him often.

“Do you want me to leave?” Zayn arched an eyebrow, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’ll leave if you want, just give me the word.”

Liam scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and shook his head. “No.” He huffed. “I don’t know. Stay. Go. Do what you want.”

Zayn was quiet for a few seconds, eyes blinking wide and sweet. “Liam.” He spoke, voice so soft that Liam’s head pulled up to look at him.

“What, Zayn.” Liam snapped, eyebrows raising expectantly. “What.”

“Come here.” Zayn whispered, eyes glinting when he smiled, patting the empty spot next to him.

“And do what?” Liam stammered, exasperated. “What do you want from me?”

“Are you afraid?” Zayn asked. “Is that it?”

Liam made a derisive snorting noise, arms folding across his chest. “No. I’m not afraid.”

“Then come. Here.” Zayn said, voice taking on a lower, raspier drawl. “And if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. You’re a fit lad. Could probably drag me out of here if you wanted to get rough.”

Liam stared at him, eyes flickering down to the spot where Zayn’s hand laid, beckoning him closer, and gods, Liam did. He wanted to.

He kept his arms drawn around his chest as he stepped forward, taking a curved path in slow, easy steps towards the bed. One foot in front of the other. It was easy when thought of in simpler terms.

Zayn smiled, and watched, letting Liam take his time, however much he needed. When Liam got within reaching distance, Zayn reached an arm out, palm pressing flat to Liam’s stomach, the muscles there jumping on instinct.

“You’re nervous.” Zayn smiled, eyes lifting up to Liam’s as his fingers curled into the material of Liam’s shirt, tugging him forward at the pace Liam allowed. “Don’t be.”

“Easier said than done.” Liam breathed, watching Zayn take one of Liam’s wrists to kiss the back of his hand. He swallowed, the tension from his shoulders releasing a little when Zayn rubbed figure eights into his wrist with a press of a thumb.

“I’m always good to you.” Zayn remarked, leaning down to press cool, chapped lips to his pulse point, and the veins that spiderwebbed under his skin. “And I’ll be good to you now. You don’t have to worry. And if-” Zayn’s lips dragged up his forearm, and into the crook of his elbow. “-I go to fast-” another kiss, “-or do something you don’t like-” he added, moving into a standing position so he’s trapped between Liam and the edge of the bed, “-stop me.”

They’re impossibly close, enough so that Liam can feel all of Zayn’s edges. The bones of his shoulders, the jut of his hip when it brushes swiftly over his own, the gentle compress of cold knuckles on his skin.

He lets out a weak noise, surprised more than anything, when he feels Zayn’s nose traveling along the underside of his jaw, and the scruff that crawls across his skin when Zayn finally kisses him there too.

“You have no idea-” Zayn mumbled, tongue and teeth dragging across the column of his throat when he talks, “-how long I’ve wanted to get you like this.”

Liam’s hands crawl up to grab Zayn, just above his elbows, and he digs his fingers in, finding leverage in his body. “You think about this often?”

“Mm.” Zayn’s voice is scratchy, and rumbly enough that every syllable sends blood straight to his cock. “Is it inappropriate to tell that? I think about it all the time.”

“We’re already crossing a line.” Liam speaks, surprised at how breathy his own voice sounds in his ears. “Harm’s already been done. Say what you want.”

Zayn pulls away from giving his neck attention, and lifts up to fix Liam with his stare, lips shiny and wet. “So I can say that I think about you when I get myself off?” His lips quirked up, amused. His eyes take on a darker glint, however, when his hands sneak down to yank at the fastenings on his shirt, pulling them loose in one pull. “And how much I want to get my lips around that thick cock of yours, and have you fuck my mouth.”

Liam keens low in his throat, his prick full and aching in his trousers. He’s embarrassingly hard off words alone, and it shouldn’t be Zayn that turns him on so much. And he knows it.

“Pay attention, Liam.” Zayn speaks, hands bunching up the material of Liam’s shirt, pushing it up his chest, until Liam lifts his arms up. He tugs it off, and tosses it away. “I want you to look at me when I suck you off.”

Liam actually shudders, body inclining towards Zayn’s like a magnetic pulse. Zayn plants his hands on Liam’s waist, thumbing over where the indents of his stomach muscles start. He turns them around slowly, and kneels down, eyes holding Liam’s. “Sit on the bed please.”

Liam wants to say and do so many things, but all that comes out of his mouth is weak sigh. He knows his erection is obvious through his trousers, and normally he’d be embarrassed about being so exposed in front the man he’d called his friend for years. He’s not sure what crossing this line would make them.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, licking his chapped lips until they’re shiny wet. Zayn rests both hands on Liam’s knees, and pushes them apart, scooting in to the space between them. “It’s not too late to back out, you know.” Zayn teases his bottom lip with his tongue while he tugs at the lacings on Liam’s breeches, until the waistline is loose on him.

Liam nods, reaching down to push a hand through Zayn’s hair. Testing. “I know.”

“And you don’t want to?” Zayn teases, reaching a hand inside Liam’s breeches to press his palm against the firm outline of his cock, swathed in his undergarments too.

Liam archs forward, letting out a soft breath of, “Oh fuck.” to no one in particular. He ducks his head, feeling Zayn lean in close.

“Look at me, Liam.” Zayn stops his hand movements. When Liam complies, he takes the opportunity to close the distance between them, nose brushing Liam’s when he presses their lips together.

It catches Liam off guard, and knocks the air from his lungs entirely. He’d never slept with a woman, but he had kissed one once in his youth. This was nothing like it. Zayn’s lips were slick, and soft, and the patches of scruff scratched his cheeks, but it was so, so good.

“Open your mouth for me, deary.” Zayn moans against his lips, surely putting on a show. It makes Liam feel less awkward, much to his appreciation, even though he knows he’s probably severely lacking at this. Zayn sucks Liam’s bottom lip into his mouth, teeth biting down gently in a way that has Liam weak. He secures a hand around the back of Zayn’s neck, holding him there with just a little more force than necessary when he feels a warm tongue sweep between his lips. He opens his mouth wider, shivering when Zayn’s tongue slips inside, licking and curling around his tongue. It has more affect on him than any amount of liquor.

His cheeks go hot, and he’s sure he’s red from the tips of ears, all the way down to his neck. And it’s only when Zayn breaks the kiss, lips red and puffy, that Liam remembers to breathe, pulling in a large gulp of air.

“You look absolutely smashing like this.” Zayn breathes, leaning down to press his lips to Liam’s stomach, feeling his stomach clench under his kiss. “Bet you’re going to look even prettier when I swallow you, huh? If I can even fit all of you.” He scoffs. “You’re kind of impressively big.”

Liam’s whole face burns at the comment, and has to stare at the ceiling when Zayn tugs down his undergarments, and his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach, leaving a shiny smear of precum on his skin.

“And you’re so hard.” Zayn smiles, leaning down to kiss Liam’s hip, and Zayn is so, so close to where Liam needs him to be. Feels his shaft brush against Zayn’s cheek. “I did that to you.”

“You did. Just-” Liam breaths, mind caught up in wordiness when he’s unable to vocalize what he wants.

“Use your words, Liam.” Zayn says after a moment, noticing Liam’s struggle. “I want you to tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Liam groans low in his throat, heading rolling down to press his forehead to Zayn’s. He needs to be kissed again to be assured that, yes. This is happening. And it feels so blindingly good.

Zayn reads into it, and tilts his head up, lips pushing insistently against his. It’s slow, and dirty, and Liam wonders whether or not he’d rather just spend a couple hours trying to memorize how this makes him feel.

Zayn’s pulling away though, licking the sheen off his lips, before spreading Liam’s legs apart just a little further so he can slither between them. “I want to hear you say it.” He spoke. And it’s really unfair that his voice is so calm through all of this. Like this happens every day for them.

Liam huffs, chest sinking in when warmth blooms over his cheeks. He’s hard to the point where it’s nearly uncomfortable, and he knows Zayn knows what he wants. But he can tell that this part is for Zayn’s benefit. “I want… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” Zayn smiles, and Liam watches, wide-eyed, when Zayn wraps a slender hand around the base of his cock, giving him a slow tug. Liam sounds desperate when he moans, loud and pitchy, and his legs jerk.

“Fuck.” He groans, head rolling back so that the ceiling is all that clouds his vision. “I can’t talk, let alone think, when you do that.” He mumbles.

“Best get it out quick then. Don’t want to finish before I get my lips around you.” He chuckled, head cocking. “Come on, Liam. You can say it.”

“I just-” Liam huffed, scrubbing a hand over his face, before leaning back, all the weight resting back on his hands. “I want-...Just, like. Get-...your mouth. On me. Please.” He stammered, eyes screwed shut.

He opened his eyes in time to see Zayn grin, and rolled his eyes. “We’ll work on it, babe.” Zayn gave his thigh a squeeze.

Liam didn’t want to think of the future implications of this, because he wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t regret this tomorrow, but he also wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t be opposed to doing something like this again.

Without so much as a warning though, Liam was choking back a sob when Zayn licked his lips, and opened wide, lips stretching around the head of his cock, tonguing along the slit and the fluid gathered there. It was enough that Liam almost came right then and there, shooting hot and messy down Zayn’s pretty lips.

“Fuck, Zayn.” he hiccuped, stomach clenching when Zayn slid down an inch or two more. He bobs back up, leaving Liam’s skin shiny and slick, little blurts of precum spilling from the tip.

He reaches down to grab the back of Zayn’s neck, fingers pulling at the hairs there, but he makes sure not to pull too hard. He doesn’t want to hurt him.

Zayn pulls back up, lips slick with spit and Liam. “Don’t think I can get all of you in my mouth, babe. You’re kind of big.” He actually sighs at that, pushing Liam’s cock up to lick the vein on the underside. Liam involuntarily shudders, abs clenching, and presses the heel of his palm to his mouth to hide his noises.

“Don’t think it’ll make much of a difference.” Liam grumbles, eyes screwing shut. “I won’t last long.” He admits sheepishly.

Zayn gives him a sultry grin, before moving back in, lips folding around the head and foreskin. He bobs his head up and down, practically choking on Zayn’s cock when he swallows down just a little more than he’s ready for, but it has Liam keening low in his throat, trying his best to keep his hips from pushing up. He so badly wants to fuck his mouth with reckless abandon, and finish down his throat, but he doesn’t. He’s patient.

He watches pink lips stretch to fit around him while Zayn builds up a rhythm, head bouncing along a steady tempo. The noises of Zayn sucking him off sound wet, and dirty, and just enough to send Liam’s eyes rolling back into his head.

He only looks back down when he feels fingers cupping his jaw, and pulling his face back down so Zayn could look up at him, eyelashes fanned out across his skin. He looks kind of radiant like this, Liam thinks. Full and stretched around him.

Zayn guides one of Liam’s hands to his hair when he slides back to suck on the tip, tonguing at the slit, while his hand helps guide Liam’s push and pull at Zayn’s hair. He takes the hint, and weaves his other hand around the base of Zayn’s skull, and both of Zayn’s hands drop to Liam’s thighs, relinquishing all control.

Liam still feels like the ball is in Zayn’s court, because Liam would probably do just about anything right now. Just to get the kind of pleasure that came from Zayn’s mouth. He pulled Zayn’s head back and forth, watching himself disappear down Zayn’s throat every time he pulled him closer.

“Fucking hell, I’m so close.” He moaned, eyes closing tight as he fucked faster, hips canting up to meet his tiny movements. He forgets to be gentle for a second, and rocks his hips sharply forwards, feeling himself nearly hit the back of Zayn’s throat.

Zayn digs his nails into Liam’s thighs, eyes watering at the corners a little, but Liam doesn’t see, because he’s so completely unraveled.

“Zayn, I can’t-- I won’t--”

Zayn pulls back, and starts bobbing his head even faster, eyes holding Liam’s in a piercing stare. His cheeks hollow out, and it’s so much just then. His skin feels like it’s burning all over, like his whole life has boiled down to this point, and now he’s burning.

The look in Zayn’s eyes is giving him permission. Practically hungry for it.

And all it takes is one last pull when Zayn’s lips tighten around him, and slide back to swirl his tongue over the head, before Liam’s whole body jerks, hips lifting off the bed.

“Oh fuck, Zayn.” He moans, feeling his cum slide hotly down Zayn’s tongue when he shoots his release. Zayn’s midway to pulling off, so streaks of pale white decorate his lips and chin when Liam shoots the last few spurts of it across his face.

It’s a sight that has Liam wanting to get hard all over again, Zayn all messy and completely wrecked.

His lips are cherry red and bitten, his cheeks have some color, and his eyes glint wildly from the light of the fire and the adrenaline. There are noisy breaths slipping in and out while he catches his breath, but Liam suspects that it’s partly from the situation in his pants, which Liam can see from where he’s sitting.

He whimpers quietly when Zayn’s tongue flickers out to lick Liam off of his lips, feeling his stomach flutter. “God damn, Zayn. You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” Zayn smiles innocently. His voice is rough and scratchy. “Just cleaning myself off. It’s your mess, after all.”

He wipes the rest of Liam off with the back of his hand, and proceeds to wipe it on one of the sheets, shooting Liam a wry smile. Like he’s fucking rubbing it in, so to speak.

Liam hesitates, and scrambles to cover himself, eyes averted downwards. He feels boneless, like he could float, or sleep for a couple days. The tense line to his shoulder that’s normally ever-present is gone, and he feels spent in the best way.

“I don’t know how, or even if-...” Liam pauses, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth. “Like...if you wanted me to return the favor.”

Zayn smiles from where he’s knelt, hands smoothing up and down Liam’s thighs. He’s still only half undressed, his trousers only undone enough to expose his undergarments, and his upper half completely bare.

“I’d like that. If you’re up to the task, your highness.” He smirks, swooping up to kiss Liam deeply, tongue brushing past Liam’s lips into his mouth, and Liam can taste himself a little, slightly bitter on Zayn’s tongue. “You don’t have to use your mouth. Could just use your hand.”

Liam frowns, “Don’t call me that,” and shakes his head. “But no, I’d, uh...like to try what you just did.” He says, taking a deep breath. “If that’s okay.”

“Fuck. Don’t even have to ask, Liam.” Zayn keens, moving to stand, slotted between Liam’s open thighs.

In this position, Liam was eye-level with Zayn’s crotch, eyeing the firm outline of his cock that tents his breeches.

When he looks up, Zayn is staring right back, eyeing him in a way that one would observe anything else. Face cool and collected, but there’s something hungry pulling at his expression. Like the way the corner of his mouth twitches while he bites at his lower lip.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and reached out to unlace Zayn’s pants, pulling them down until they’re pooled at Zayn’s ankles. Zayn does the rest, snaking his hands down to push his underwear down his hips, stepping out of them when they land in a heap on the floor.

And then there’s Zayn’s bare cock, springing free and standing straight out. There’s patches of dark hair around the base, and the foreskin is pulled back over the head, precum glistening on the tip.

He licks his lips, and glances back up to Zayn, taking a shaky breath. “You’re really hard.” He notes, reaching both hands out to secure them around Zayn’s hips, fingers digging in once.

He’s anxious. Kind of anxious that he won’t like it, kind of anxious that Zayn won’t like it. It’s new, and he’s unconfident in himself, but he’s sure he wants this right now. Wants to have Zayn unraveled and messy above him. Wonders what it will be like to see him lose control of himself. Zayn, who’s always in control and always in power.

“You don’t have to, you know. Can get myself off.” Zayn breathes, snaking his fingers through Liam’s curly hair.

Liam tugs Zayn in by his hips until the head of Zayn’s cock is pressed to the seam of his lips, smearing precum in shiny trails across his skin. Just to shut him up and show him that he can do this.

He closes his eyes when he finally opens his mouth, accepting the tip inside. It’s warm, and the taste of precum is slightly bitter on his tongue, but not awful in the slightest. He gives the head little kitten licks, testing the waters, and with the sudden intake of breath he hears from above him, he figures that it’s acceptable.

“God, you look so fucking good, Liam.” Zayn growls, and when Liam’s eyes open up to meet his, Zayn’s eyes are dark and glimmering. “Should’ve gotten on my knees for you years ago.”

Liam disagrees. Something about this moment feels electrically charged. Part of him thinks it’s because there’s the danger of getting caught. Something so taboo that’s transgressing between them.

He moans keenly around the head, licking the precum off the tip until his tongue his slick with it. The more he teases him with his tongue, the more precum drips from the slit.

“Keep going, baby, just like that.” Zayn drawls, accent heavy and sweet in Liam’s ears. “Come on, take a little more of me. Know you can do it.”

Liam does as is requested of him, and sinks down a little lower, feeling a couple more inches of his length slide further into his mouth and brush along the inside of one of his cheeks. His hands have a firm, steady grip on Zayn’s hipbones, and he guides him forward to take even more of him.

 

It’s then that he feels Zayn’s nails against his scalp, scraping gently when he gives a fistful of Liam’s hair a good tug. His lips are stretched around Zayn’s girth, and soon he’s bobbing his head, trying to mimic Zayn’s process from earlier.

“Yeah, just like that. Take it, babe.” Zayn groans, helping guide Liam’s mouth down onto his dick with every pulse of Zayn’s hips. He can feel Zayn throbbing against his tongue. Knows he’s close, just how Liam gets when he’s about to release.

It’s not even minutes later, of Liam sucking wetly and hollowing his cheeks while his thumb teases the vein on the underside of his shaft, that he feels Zayn’s hips jut sharply against his face. He starts fucking Liam’s mouth, but it’s a little gentler. Not as likely to keep Liam from breathing.

“So close, baby. Take a little more for me.”

Liam does as he told, eyes watering around the corners when he sinks down further, swallowing every inch that he can, while one of his hands wrap around what he can’t reach, giving the base a good squeeze.

He moans around his cock, feeling Zayn jerk suddenly, whole body arching as he gets closer and closer.

It catches Liam by surprise when Zayn lets out a sharp groan, low and growly, and buries his cock down Liam’s throat. It’s almost too much, and Liam feels his lungs protest from the lack of air, but it’s worth it when he feels Zayn shooting down his throat, moans sounding like music in Liam’s ears.

Zayn releases his hold on Liam immediately, and Liam can slide off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he collapses back on the bed. He can still taste Zayn, heavy on his tongue, and he’s very aware of movement around the room.

His eyes are trained on the ceiling though, and he doesn’t quite have the energy to look up.

Zayn appears in his vision a moment later, hovering above him with both arms planted on the bedspread. He smiles wryly, leaning down to mouth along Liam’s lips.

Liam wants to hold him there. Kiss him until his lips physically can’t work anymore. But things aren’t as simplistic as that.

“That was really lovely, Liam.” Zayn purrs, and Liam inwardly groans. Part of him wants to get worked up again, but his cock is still sensitive, hanging out of his trousers.

He can’t think of a reply though, instead choosing to let Zayn do the talking.

“You look prettiest after you orgasm.” Zayn smirks. “All sweaty and lithe.” He sighs, sitting up just a few inches more.

Liam reaches out to drag a hand down Zayn’s forearm, before his fingers circle his wrist, squeezing softly.

Zayn looks down, smiling fondly at the contact. “I’ve got to go, deary, yeah? Can’t tuck you in tonight. But I’ll find you tomorrow. I expect some words out of you by then.” he snorts.

He hesitates, eyes tracing the contour of Liam’s jaw and the brush of his eyelashes, before he leans back in, his kiss chaste against Liam’s lips.

“Goodnight, Liam.”

Liam listens to footsteps leave the room, the door shutting tight behind them.

He knows he looks wrecked. His prick is soft, and hanging out of his trousers. There’s a mark from Zayn’s teeth on his collar bone. His hair is sweaty and all in a disarray.

  
It’s at least an hour before he can finally find the will to undress fully, and pull himself under the covers, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this is okay. Little bit of smut, little bit of gore near the end, both might be atrocious, but who knows. Thanks for waiting, and for all the nice things you've said. I really appreciate the group of you who read this xx

*********************************

 

 

“Right cut.” He paused. Grunted. “Yeah. Like that.”

 

Liam wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. When he pulled his hand away, there was a smear of moisture, and just a touch of dirt. The hot sun wasn’t helping.

 

And neither was Harry’s smile. Almost brighter than that hellish thing hanging over them.

 

“You’ve got a lot of promise, your highness.” He grinned. He grinned like Zayn did. There was an ulterior motive there, but Liam still couldn’t pinpoint what that might be for this one.

 

_Zayn._

 

He recoiled a little, and shook his head away from the thought of him. He didn’t need the added distraction. This was supposed to be his therapeutic escape.

 

“Thanks.” He mumbled, taking a lambskin of water from the butcher’s boy, who had unofficially taken to watching the two of them practice. “It’s been a while for me.”

 

“I see you learn quickly, though. Good skill to have.” Harry noted, tossing his head back so his slick, sweaty curls could fall out of his face. “You swing from your shoulder too much. It makes you powerful, yes. But fast? No. Might I be so bold as to give you a demonstration?” Harry asked, stepping in just a little closer. The chainmail and leather strapped to his body rustled, and when he got close enough, Liam could pick up the distinct smell of something floral and musky.

 

Everyone smelled like a fucking garden here.

 

Liam wiped the sweat from his upper lip, and nodded, taking in deep breaths through parted lips.

 

“You see,” Harry slid in behind him, enough that he could feel every inch of that long, lithe torso pressed against his back. It was confusing, but no one seemed to bat an eyelash, except for the girls who stopped to let their eyes travel Harry’s profile for half a heartbeat. “If you swing like this-” Harry’s arm latched onto his own, armored fingers wrapped around Liam’s wrist. “-from the elbow, and add a little wrist flick at the end, you get just enough power to deliver a faster blow. You can’t lose.”

 

Liam nodded. Mute, because Harry’s stubble was scratching against cheek, and he was close enough to practically count the pores on his face.

 

“Think you got it?” Harry asked. His voice was gravelly enough that Liam could feel it vibrating through his back, and straight to his core. “I can demonstrate more if you missed that.”

 

“N-no.” Liam stepped away, hand instantly coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “I think I understand what you’re trying to, uh. Like. I see what you’re saying.” He mumbled, trying to ignore the the fact that his cheeks were probably a shade darker than they were before.

 

Harry nodded, eyes attuned to Liam’s discomfort. Maybe it wasn’t quite discomfort, but Liam still wasn’t sure what to define it as. He didn’t normally get this kind of attention. Never from lads, even, up until recently.

 

“Good. Try it again.” Harry shifted on the balls of his feet, hooking the tip of his sword under Liam’s to lift it up. “Can’t rest until we’re dead, eh?”

 

“Right.” Liam sighed, watching their blades dance around each other, clicking when they got too close. “Sound like my father.”

 

“Your father.” Harry smiled, making a sharp cut to the left. Liam parried, and darted backward just enough to keep the flat edge from grazing his hip. “He’s a wound up lad, innit?”

 

“Yeah,” Liam grunted, dodging another throw from Harry. They were circling around each other now, taking slow, calculated steps to the left. “He’s not one for relaxing.” He spoke, feigning to the right, before jabbing to the left.

 

“Better.” Harry gritted, smacking Liam’s blade away with the flat of his own. “But still not fast enough. More with your wrist. I’m sure you know how to flick your wrist, Liam.” Harry smirked.

 

Liam missed Harry’s third strike, wincing to expect the hit. Harry curved his wrist at the last second, smacking Liam’s side with the blunt edge.

 

“Much like you, right?” Harry quipped, dragging the tip along the ground. Purposefully attempting to be annoying by scratching steel on cobblestone. “You need to let loose, a little. You’ll be grey before you’re thirty.”

 

“If I even live that long before I drink myself to death, or get torn apart by wolves. Or, you know, if someone sticks a sword in me.”

 

“I dunno.” Harry tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Some guys like having swords in them. Over and over again.”

 

Liam stopped moving, eyebrows drawing together, before the realization of what Harry was hinting towards had his face glowing brighter than the sun beating down on them. “Please tell me you’re joking. And that you did not actually just say that.”

 

Harry made a derisive snort at the back of his throat, pretty face twisting into a gaping laugh. “You’re all so frigid in the capital. I’m surprised your willy hasn’t shrivelled up and fallen off.” He flicked his eyes up towards the sky, looking completely at peace.

 

Liam took the opportunity to make a strike for his belly, to which Harry effortlessly smacked the blade of his sword away, eyes zeroing in on Liam.

 

“You’re swinging from your shoulder again. It makes you slow, and clumsy.” He chuckled, digging his sword into the dirt between the cobblestones. It stood straight up while Harry lifted his arms to pull his hair back from his face, working to knot it back. “And you’re honestly telling me that you’ve never, like. Experimented? At all?” He cocked an eyebrow. “What, no lovely ladies want to get fucked by the cute prince? I find that hard to believe.”

 

Liam choked back a noise, and maybe almost choked, but shook his head. “I’m really, really not up for discussing this. We’re not really familiar.”

 

“Oh, please.” Harry cocked a hip, blinking innocently. “I’m simply trying to make my honored guests feel welcome and comfortable. I think that’s in order. Plus, you’re an alright lad. Fit. Shy. It’s all kind of cute on you.” Harry grinned, reaching across to pinch one of Liam’s cheeks.

 

Liam stepped out of the way of his hand, groaning, because he really didn’t need that at this moment. His face was already a shade darker from all mention of experimentation.

 

His recent bout of experimentation was causing him more anxiety and self-loathing than joy and euphoria. He and Zayn hadn’t even spoken since that night. Liam physically couldn’t bring himself to. Any time they were alone in a room together, Liam had to leave. He dressed himself, bathed himself, and tucked himself in at night, with Illyria, who miraculously reappeared at some point between then and now, and Liam was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t exactly taken notice of her arrival. She’d apparently found some other ladies in the village that she’d taken to. And he didn’t blame her. The capital’s a populated and lonely place.

 

“So, come on. Tell me about all your sexual endeavors.” Harry’s eyebrows lifted humorously. “I don’t have any close mates I can talk to about all this, so. Spill, Princey.”

 

Liam blinked, shaking his head from side to side. “That’s a very short, very boring list.” he said. “Honest.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. Unconvinced, apparently. “You’re in your late teens, almost twenties, and you can safely say you’ve never exchanged messy handjobs in the back of a broom closet, or something?”  


Liam cringed. “God. No. Just let it go, man.” He grumbled, staggering away when Harry went to sling an arm around his shoulder. “And what, you’ve got a long string of lovers just dying to ravage you?”

 

Harry shrugged, smiling unabashedly. “You know it, baby. I love making people feel good. Getting to see them at their most vulnerable.” He sidled in, brushing his hand up Liam’s side, before pulling him in my the laces holding his armor together. Their chest plates clinked together comically. “Could give you a free lesson, if you want.”

 

“Free?” He quirked a smile. “D’you normally charge, or something?”

 

Harry shrugged, “If things get desperate, why not? What’s a little pocket change between friends?”

 

“I don’t think I can ever recall doing something like this with a friend. Ever.”

 

“Ah, but we haven’t done anything yet, have we?” He clicked his tongue, flicking the tip of Liam’s nose. “Get your head outta the gutter, beautiful.”

 

Liam shoved him away with a firm hand planted on his chest plate. It was all lighthearted banter, and playfulness, and he couldn’t push the stupid smile off his face. “You’re loony.”

 

“The best people are.” Harry pulled his sword from the dirt, sheathing it at his hip. He walked a couple paces towards Liam, and extended a hand out. “Good match. I mean, you’re not the most amazing swordsmen out there, but you’ve got some promise in you. Can make a strong knight out of you yet. Get you ready for the day you rescue a pretty lady, or summat.”

 

“I’m married.” Liam shook his hand, squeezing firmly like his father taught him. “I think my rescuing days are over before they’ve even begun.”

 

“Yeah, you’ve got a wife.” Harry chuckled, prying his hand out of Liam’s grip. “Doesn’t mean you can’t have some lady friends on the side. Or lovely gent or two, eh?”

 

Liam bowed his head, the left corner of his mouth pulling into a coy smile. “That’s not really how I conduct affairs. Your faith in me is astounding, however. Good day.”

 

He laughed when he felt Harry hip check him on his way out of the training grounds, wiping the new layer of sweat off with the handkerchief in his pocket. He took a deep breath, lungs aching with the sudden expanse. The day was far too lovely for a day in Autumn.

 

The air is always fragrant here, he’s come to learn. If the scent of the harvest doesn’t carry in from the fields outside the walls, then the smell of honeysuckle and rosewater carry in from lord knows where. It’s drunkenly sweet, like all the people who walk the streets, soft and happy.

 

He’s never been so relaxed and so high-strung all at once.

 

His calm is shattered when a solid, graceless body falls in stride next to his, going to work on undoing the straps that hold his armor on. “Normally, I don’t do your handmaiden’s job, but the sun is reflecting off of you in a way that’s really not pleasant.”

 

“Zayn’s not-”

 

“I know, I know. Shut up.” Louis mumbled, yanking Liam’s chest piece off first, his gauntlets following quickly. “There’s been news. You want the good or the bad first?”

 

“Bad, please.” Liam spoke, standing still to allow Louis the patience to pull the garb from his body, and carry a few of the pieces under his arms, while Liam picked up the rest. He tried hard to ignore the glances from passerby’s, not entirely as befuddled as Liam would’ve imagined. “I’ve had all the peppiness I can handle, I think.”

 

“Well,” Louis sighed, narrowly avoiding a mule pulling leeks and onions in a cart. “Your Uncle Raymus, he’s, uh. Well. He’s coming down from the Wall. Wants to recruit more men for the Black, ya know?”

 

Liam frowned. It wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting. “And that’s bad, why? They’re always looking for new recruits.”

 

“Exactly.” Louis’ face looked pinched. “Your father has volunteered me. Thinks I’ll make a good example. May I say something that might be taken offensively?”

 

Liam felt choked up all over again. “Go for it, buddy.”

 

“Your father is a horse’s arse.” Louis spoke instantly. “Really just the biggest cunt I’ve ever served. How he even conceived something as beautiful as you, I’ll never fuckin’ know, mate.”

 

Liam cracked a smile, staring at the dirt and his feet as they walked. “That’s hardly offensive if it’s the truth. Him being an arse, I mean.” He snickered, before his whole face well. Realization. “So you’re really leaving? Take the Black, ‘n everything?”

 

Louis grumbled under his breath, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “Do I really have a choice? When the king says jump...”

 

Liam scrubbed a hand over his face. Maybe it was sweat that dampened his hand, maybe it was a stray tear. He wasn’t sure. “I’ll miss you a lot, you know.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll miss me too.” Louis huffed, turning just enough to flash Liam a wry, weak smile. “Always thought we’d be going into battle together, ya know? Wanted to fight beside you, ‘n all.”

 

“Yeah.” Liam’s voice was a little rougher around the edges. “We always wanted to, together.”

 

Liam remembers his little nine-year-old self playing knights and dragons with Louis, where they’d use pieces of driftwood they’d found by the sea as swords.

 

Liam didn’t like death, or bloodshed that seemed so wasteful, but this was his inevitable future. If he were to face it with anybody, it should be his best mate.

 

It was silent for a beat, before Louis spoke up again. “Guess there’s a shortage of men up north. No one volunteers for the Black like they used to. They love their women and their warmth too much. The winds are getting harsher, and the cold is biting more and more. It’s...unnerving.”

 

“How long?” Liam asked. “Til you leave.”

 

Louis shrugged. “However long it takes your arsehole uncle to get down here. Fuck, your lineage is so unfortunate, man.”

 

Liam shushed him, his laughter ringing out at the end. “You sure you even like me?”

 

“Most days, yes.” Louis grinned, nudging his shoulder.

 

Liam took another breath. His lungs felt severely lacking again. “What’s the good news, then?”

 

“Oh. There isn’t any.” Louis replied, “Just love seeing your cute little face get all scrunched with disappointment.”

 

Liam knocked their shoulders together, turning his nose up as he laughed. “You’re really an arse.”

 

“So,” Louis sighed, knocking into him again. “Why were you dabbling with Captain Dickface?”

 

Liam snorted derisively, giving Louis a sidelong look. “Still not a fan of him?”

 

“No. Who the fuck is?” He scrunched his nose up. “He’s tall, and he makes an arse of himself, and he prances around like some flowery pixie. And he acts like he likes everyone, but no one likes everyone. It’s not realistic.”

 

“Were you watching us?” Liam quirked an eyebrow.

 

“For about five minutes.” Louis answered. “He was getting awfully familiar from my vantage point.”

 

Liam shrugged. “He flirts aimlessly. Might be an unconscious thing.”

 

“Might be because he likes dick.” Louis rolled his eyes. “His reputation precedes him.”

 

Liam shrugged. “Not really our business, don’t you think?”

 

Louis arched a brow, “Since when are you so cavalier about something that should shock you? I’m supposed to be the unfazed one here.”

 

Liam lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I dunno. I wouldn’t want anyone inquiring about what goes on in my bedchambers. It’s personal, you know?”

 

“Yeah, but.” Louis snickered. “Can you imagine? Sleeping with another man. The way you would with a woman.”

 

Liam dropped one of his gauntlets, staring straight ahead. “I don’t want to.” He mumbled. It wasn’t entirely honest, since that was quite literally all he could think about as of late.

 

“Think about what your father would say if he knew you were spending time with someone like that.”

 

“Just stop.” Liam sighed, laying a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “What’s today’s itinerary?”

 

“Moving on to the more important question, where’s your boy servant?” Louis grunted, shouldering past a guard on watch in front of the northern tower. Liam shot the guard an apologetic look. He looked to be younger than Liam himself, his upper lip dusted with a sparse patch of coarse, dark hairs. Just barely past puberty, and stuck with guard duty.

 

“Don’t call him that.” Liam spat when he caught up to him on the stairs.

 

Louis waved him off. “Your shiny Dornish boy, man servant, it doesn’t really matter. He’s still not here. You know, doing his actual job, if you can even call that a job.”

 

“Excuse me, but I believe you’ve got four young men working for you, do you not?” He raised an eyebrow, each flight of stairs weighing on his patience. “For someone who lacks the respect for that line of work, you appear to have no problem fueling it.” He snorted.

 

“That’s different.” Louis arrived breathless when he finally reached the landing that opened into a balcony. “I don’t wake up looking like this. Need the extra hands, ya know?”

 

“Exactly.” Liam said, leaning against the wall to catch his breath for a few moments. He pushed off after a second, and walked towards his room, squinting as the midday sun warmed his face. “As long as people continue contributing to that market, they’ll always be around.”

 

“Dorishmen, or man servants?” Louis quipped.

 

Liam rolled his eyes, “I don’t think there’s any real need for squires. Dornishmen are going to be around whether you want them to be or not. Best get used to them.”

 

Louis turned his nose up, kicking Liam’s door open with both arms full. “Your head’s up your arse.” He spat, dropping pieces of armor down on the stone floor, where it landed noisily. “Ah, speak of the bloody devil. How ya doin’ today, Zayn?” He asked, eyes wide and unblinking. “A day of fluffing pillows and wiping the king’s arse?”

 

Liam felt like he’d just swallowed rocks, and suddenly the idea of flinging himself off his glamorized balcony sounds very appealing. He walked around the corner to peek into his room, just to see if it’s true.

 

And there he is, in all his glory. He always looked good in red, anyhow.

 

“Oh, Louis.” He purred, midway through making Liam’s bed. “You know the only arse I wipe around here is the prince’s.”

 

Louis wrinkled his nose, but stomped forwards and fell backwards onto Liam’s canopy bed. “You’re vile.”

 

“And you’re going to wind up dead at the bottom of the tower if you don’t move and let me do my job.” He said, dropping one of the pillows on Louis’ face. “Off.”

 

Liam normally took part in spats like this. It was fun watching Louis get riled up, and Zayn disarm him effortlessly. But right now, his tongue felt like lead, and refused to move. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, pieces of armor slipping from his arms.

 

It was only when one of Liam’s shin guards hit the ground that Zayn actually paid him any kind of attention, eyes flickering over to Liam for a brief second, before flickering away again.

 

Louis bolted up into a sitting position, his glare burning vehemently into the side of Zayn’s face. “I can have you flogged for that. You don’t get to threaten me, you self-righteous fuck-”

 

“Louis.” Liam growled. “Out. Now.”

 

Both Zayn and Louis stopped their banter to give him a few seconds of their focus, both looking equally as stunned. Zayn’s jaw is relaxed, his lips parted and the scary part is is that all Liam can think about is the way they feel, breathing hotly against his skin. Remembers how it feels when Zayn’s tongue slips between his lips.

 

“No, this is out of line.” Louis spat, getting to his feet. “He can’t talk to me like this, Liam, and you know as well as I-”  


“Some other time.” Liam holds his hand up to stop him. “Talk to me about this some other time. Right now, I’d like to speak with Zayn. If you would.” He finished, motioning to the door.

 

Louis’ eyes flickered between the both of them, before hurling the pillow to the floor. “Fine. Glad to know you’ve got my back, buddy.” He snapped, bumping Liam’s shoulder as he passed.

 

Liam didn’t turn. Just listened and stared at the cracks in the ceiling while Louis stomped out of the establishment, and down the million steps it took to get up to the sparse, pristine room.

 

He took a deep breath, lungs feeling caked with a crust that he can’t quite shake, but it’s there, and it’s uncomfortable. “I haven’t seen you in nearly two days.” He spoke, eyes moving to Zayn’s feet. “Two days. A little note might have been nice. Where were you?” His eyes narrowed when he finally met Zayn’s unwavering stare.

 

Zayn was quiet for a beat, before resuming his work. Straightening the sheets, fluffing the pillows. “I thought you needed some time without me. Some time to breath, you know?” he drawled, giving Liam a sidelong look. “It was wrong of me?”

 

“Yes. It was very wrong.” He scolded, dropping the last of his armored pieces down at his feet. He stepped around the pile to close the door and venture in further. “You...you work for me. You’re to wake me up, fetch my meals, help me dress. I was late for three very important meetings with the protector over this land, not to mention one with my father, do you know how fucking pathetic I looked?” He scoffed.

 

A corner of Zayn’s mouth twitched upwards slightly, before his features smoothed out into something unreadable. “Liam, you know I take your personal effects very seriously, but you are a man grown. You can dress yourself, feed yourself, wake yourself up. Men do it all the time without someone like me running around.”

 

Liam’s eyebrows shot up, and he pushed a hand through his hair, grimacing at the tangles. He’d let it get too long already, to the point where there was a slight curl to it. “Zayn, it’s your job. Whether I can do it myself or not doesn’t matter, it’s what you do. It’s what you agreed to do when you came here.”

 

“No.” Zayn spoke, calm and collected. “It’s what your father paid my father to have me do. Not the same thing, precious.”

 

“Don’t do that. Don’t try to sweeten me up, you can’t do that.” He glared. “You know what you’re doing is wrong.”

 

“What am I doing, Liam?” He raised an eyebrow, raising a knee up to rest it on the bed. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you, yes? Is it because I sucked you off, or is it because you returned the favor?” He finished, tugging at the laces on his red doublet. It pulls loose.

 

“Fuck you.” Liam sighed, scrubbing his closed fists over his eyes. “Just fuck you.”

 

“Okay.” He purred, inching further onto the bed. “Fuck me, but make it good.”

 

Liam’s face burned red, he could feel, and the sudden rush in his blood was jarring. Enough so that he could only stare at the way Zayn crawled up the bed on his knees, sitting up so he was eye level with Liam.

 

He shrugged out of his vest, and tossed it to the ground.

 

“You’re out of your fucking mind. Get off the bed.” He snapped, one hand on his hip, while the other tugged through his loose, sandy curls. “This is so inappropriate, Zayn, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

 

“I’m in a clear state of mind, Liam. And I’m a man grown.” He added, undoing the clasps on his shirt, revealing more and more gold skin the more he undresses. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

“No.” Liam shook his head. “You don’t. Your sister--my wife--could walk in, and she’s the last of our concern right now.”

 

“Oh?” One corner of Zayn’s mouth pulled up. “So, it’s not me that turns you off? Just the idea of someone catching us?” He smiled, “I don’t know. I find that rather exciting.” He murmured, reaching a hand out. “Come here.”

 

Liam has a hand clasped over his mouth, laughing incredulously through the gaps. “You’re out of your fucking mind right now, do you realize that?”

 

“You’re hard.”

 

Liam groaned, and shook his head. “So?”

 

“I want to take care of it.” He shrugged. “If you’ll let me.”

 

Liam stared, eyes wide as he watched Zayn’s hands travel down his own chest. Making a show of himself. He can see the clear outline of him through his breeches, and he’s hard, and touching himself, and all thoughts of protest crumble away, because there’s some sick part of him that wants this. He wants to see how far this can go.

 

“Do you like watching me?” Zayn asked, voice rough and raw around the edges. He moved into a sitting position on the mattress, feet touching the floor.

 

Liam didn’t move a muscle, although his pants began to feel considerably tighter. He watched Zayn wriggle out of his pants, undressing himself bit by bit until he was completely bare, his stomach muscles taut and tight, and his cock hanging hard and heavy against his thigh.

 

“Yes.” Liam admits, voice just barely above whisper level.

 

“Oh.” Zayn answered, like he’s somehow surprised by the answer.

 

And Zayn’s hands are everywhere: digging into the sheets, running through his hair until it’s messy, sliding up the insides of his thighs. It’s startling in the best and worst way. Best because Liam wants to let Zayn destroy him like this. Worst because it’s the first time he’s ever been this turned on, and he’s not even turned on by the right person.

 

There’s precum sliding down his length, leaving his skin glistening.

 

“Zayn, someone could walk in.” He stammers again. He knows he’s redundant, but that thought is the only thing taking away from how much he wants to crawl into Zayn’s lap and do things to him that he’s not supposed to want.

 

Zayn smiles, head tilting over to one side when he finally gets a hand around himself, giving himself a long, slow pull that has Liam groaning at the back of his throat. “It’s okay, Liam.” He says, voice smooth like molasses. “Come and help me out. No one’s gonna walk in.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

Zayn’s hand stills, before he lets go of himself altogether, and leans back on his palms, strands of dark hair in such a state of disarray. “That’s true, I don’t.” His chest heaves when he breathes in. “But I do know that if you come over and help me finish, then you’ve got less of a chance of anyone finding out. We’ll be done before you’d like. Can’t last long when you look the way you do.”

 

Liam thinks he’s just been complemented, but he can’t hear over the thud of his heartbeat that’s echoing through his ears.

 

“Will you let me?” Zayn asked, reaching a hand out to brush the tips of his fingers over Liam’s stomach, before gliding lower. Liam’s head falls back so he’s looking at the ceiling, a small touch like that sending his stomach flipping uncontrollably.

 

He takes a few unconscious steps forward, reaching for both of Zayn’s wrists, moulding them over his hips. He’s rough with his movements, but he doesn’t care. He wants Zayn to feel the urgency he’s feeling, because Liam doesn’t want to go as gentle this time.

 

Zayn’s eyes flicker up to meet Liam’s, through the curls of unruly hair that hang in his face, but he gets the picture, pulling Liam’s breeches down his hips and down his thighs until they’re pooled at his ankles.

 

Zayn takes a good couple of moments, just admiring Liam while he leans back on the palms of his hands, one corner of his lips curling into something resembling a smile. “Look at you.” He raised his eyebrows, looking utterly in awe. And Liam’s gone completely red, from the tips of his ears to where his neck meets his shoulders.

 

“Zayn, you know I-” He takes a heavy breath. “You know I don’t really know...know what I’m doing.”

 

Zayn waves him off, and pulls on one of Liam’s wrists, guiding him down onto the bed until Liam’s lying flat on his back, staring up at the red clay ceiling. There are a few cracks and imperfections, but he feels the bed dip next to him, and sooner than not, Zayn’s crawling into his lap, elbows on either side of Liam’s head.

 

“I know.” he purrs, brushing his fingers through Liam’s hair. “I do, though. Let me teach you?” He lifts an eyebrow, leaning down until his lips just hover above a spot on Liam’s jaw line.

 

He can feel his steady, warm breaths, and his heart quickens to a ridiculously fast pace. “Yeah. Please.” He says, hands sliding up to rest on the small of Zayn’s back, sliding along his skin.

 

“I’ll feel good for you, yes?” The kiss he gives Liam’s jaw is just the smallest brush of his lips, but it feels like everything and nothing all at once. “I want to.”

 

“I want you to.” Liam grumbles, holding his breath when Zayn shifts just the smallest amount, and he feels his cock touch his hip, leaving a shiny trail of precum.

 

Zayn finally pulls back so that he’s all Liam can see, dark eyelashes fanning across his cheeks, his eyes a dizzyingly sweet amber when the setting sun hits them just right. His cheekbones are soft in this light, and his jaw is dusted in scruff, but he’s never looked so beautiful.

 

Liam swallows, throat feeling uncomfortably tight, because this isn’t about the way Zayn looks, and it’s definitely not what he’s to focus on right then. Those thoughts can wait.

 

Those eyelashes brush Liam’s cheeks--they tickle, he thinks--when Zayn closes his eyes, amber disappearing, and he leans in. He’s not gentle when he kisses Liam. He’s bruising and hot, and his stubble scratches Liam’s cheeks and chin, but he doesn’t care, because this is exactly what he wanted. He doesn’t want gentle today.

 

He opens his mouth, anticipating Zayn’s tongue, and leans up, holding Zayn by the back of his neck to keep him there. He licks into his mouth, bites at his bottom lip until it’s swollen and the loveliest shade of red, and he’s so hard that he’s reaching down between them to touch himself, squeezing himself at the base.

 

He feels Zayn’s cold fingers wrap around his wrist, and yank his hand away, pinning it to the bed. “I get to touch you.” Zayn breaks the kiss long enough to whisper in his ear.

 

Something like bravery stirs up in Liam’s chest, or maybe it’s defiance. Always being told what to do. He groans low in his throat, and grabs Zayn by both of his arms, rolling them over in one quick motion.

 

“No. You get to touch me when I tell you that you get to touch me.” He growled, fingers brushing down the column of Zayn’s throat while he presses his lips there, licking and sucking at his skin until there’s a satisfactory mark in the loveliest shade of violet.

 

Zayn physically shivers underneath him, body trembling and lips parting open to let a small, surprised moan escape. It vibrates against Liam’s chest, and before he can start worrying about what he’s supposed to do next, Zayn’s spreading his legs a little wider, legs bent at the knee, feet flat on the bed.

 

And Liam’s so close, the head of his cock slipping messily between his thighs until he’s leaking precum against the curve of his arse. The sensation’s enough to send him into a dazed state, because it’s so much all at once, and he really wants this. It’s burning up under his skin, and through his bones, and he really, really wants to fuck him until he’s seeing stars behind his eyelids. Doesn’t care who hears in this state of mind.

 

“And what about me?” Zayn asks, trying to hide the shake in his voice by burying it against Liam’s lips. “Do you only get to touch me when I tell you that you can?” He quirked a smile, tongue tracing Liam’s bottom lip, tentatively licking his lips open until he can slip inside a little more.

 

Liam falters, pulling up so that he can actually look at him. His cheeks and lips are pink, jaw slack, and hair pointing in a million different directions, yet he still looks unfairly radiant. He takes a deep breath. “I-no, you’re totally right. Only you can really give me permission, and I-”

 

“Liam.” Zayn kisses him once. Quick. “Hush. I’m teasing. And right now, I really need you to fuck me, so.”

 

Liam smiles subtly, before his expression falls flat. “That’s also an issue. See, you’re...gonna have to walk me through this if you want it to be good.” He brushes a hand through his hair, eyes shifting around to hopefully ignore the way his whole face burns pink.

 

He wrinkles his nose when Zayn places both hands on Liam’s cheeks, forcing him to look into his eyes.

 

“None of that, now.” Zayn cautions. “I’ll help you. You’re a quick learner, okay? Do not worry like that.”

 

Liam feels some of the tension leaving his shoulders, and nods.

 

“You need to open me up first, yes? It will be a little bit painful if you don’t, unless you’re tiny, and--” Zayn pauses, letting his eyes shift downwards. “I’ve had my lips wrapped around you once. You’re not tiny.” He snorted. “If you don’t want to do it, I can do it for you.”

 

He shook his hand, pressing both hands on Zayn’s shoulders. “I’d like to try.” Liam raised his eyebrows hopefully.

 

Zayn’s lips curled up like smoke, head tilting to one side. “What a gentleman.” He snorted, reaching down to grab one of Liam’s hands with both of his own, raising it up to his face. He presses a small kiss to Liam’s knuckles, before wetting his lips with his tongue. He glanced down Liam’s fingers once, before taking them into his mouth, licking and sucking as his eyes held on to Liam’s.

 

It was all a little absurd, but Liam could only stare, mildly fascinated as Zayn’s tongue slipped between and around his fingers, sending heat straight to Liam’s face. Zayn let go after a moment with an audible pop, lips shiny, and spread his legs a little wider, feet flat on the bed.

 

“Gonna open me up now, yeah? Nice and slow.” Zayn cooed, bringing both hands up to cup Liam’s cheeks. “You fuck me with your fingers, babe.”

 

Liam held a tight breath in his lungs, and reached down, sitting back on his heels to watch as he brushed dry fingers across the fleshy part of his inner thigh, face going completely red when he finally brushed slick fingers across his hole, massaging the tight ring of muscle gently.

 

He didn’t know if Zayn was humoring him or if it actually felt as good as he let on, but Zayn let out an audible gasp, throat exposed as his head rocked back, but his eyes zeroed in on Liam’s face, carefully watching him with heavily lidded eyes. “Just like that, babe. Keep going.”

 

Liam swallowed past how dry his throat was feeling, eyebrows raising a little. “You seem to know what you’re doing.” Liam spoke up, voice cracked a little. “Do this often back at the capital?” he asked, going for a joke, but there was something serious tugging at his question.

 

“Why?” Zayn smirked, wriggling down against Liam’s hand, forcing one of Liam’s fingers inside, pushing past the first stretch of muscle. Liam’s eyes widened, but Zayn shivered toes curling as he wriggled again. “Jealous?”

 

“No.” Liam deadpanned, although he had the image in his head of others crowded between Zayn’s legs. Others sucking him off, or eating him out, or bending him over. He frowned. “Wondering how I never noticed.”

 

“You’re stupidly oblivious most of the time.” Zayn cooed, reaching up to pinch one of Liam’s cheeks. “Doesn’t mean I still don’t find you cute as a button.”

 

Liam pushed his finger in the rest of the way, other fingers splayed out along Zayn’s arse, watching him clench around the digit, before relaxing again. Zayn heaved in a breath, eyelids fluttering like wings on summer moths. “You called your Prince stupid. Not very smart for a squire.”

 

“I called you stupidly oblivious.” Zayn dug his nails into Liam’s shoulders, sliding down against his finger again. “Curl your finger up just a little.”

 

Liam did as he was told, curling his finger up, glancing back down to watch what he was doing when he brushed over something a little softer. Fleshy, almost.

 

But Zayn seemed to love it. Whole body practically squirming, as another blurt of precum dripped from the head of his cock, and down his entire length. “What you just touched-” Zayn spoke, brushing the hair back from his forehead. “-is what you want to aim for when you fuck me, yes? Right there, babe. ‘Nother finger, go.”

 

Liam’s own prick twitched helplessly between his legs, fucking aching to just slide inside Zayn, and screw him with reckless abandon. He didn’t think he cared who heard just then. He did what he was told, cranking his middle finger in alongside his index, stopping while Zayn tightened, and adjusted when Liam started scissoring his fingers at a slow, sweet pace.

 

But Zayn, the fucking devil that he was, pushed down against his hand, sinking Liam’s fingers in deeper, eyes crinkling as the most sinful of noises left those delicate lips.

 

“Still want to know how much I do this?” Zayn asked finally, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m not ashamed, Liam.”

 

“No,” Liam sighed, head tipping to one side as he stretched him apart further. “Don’t suppose you would be. Is it-...do you have a particular guy, or do you not see anyone on a permanent basis?”

 

Zayn shrugged. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes I get some regulars. Sometimes some of your dastardly officials come to stay, and want me to service them for a night. Too ashamed to admit what they want out loud. I’m not picky. Just as long as both individuals are willing, and I finish.” He smiled coyly.

 

Liam blinked, and curled his fingers up, watching Zayn’s eyes roll back as he relaxed around his fingers.

 

“Can take you like this.” Zayn said finally, pulling at Liam’s wrist. “Been stretched less before, and I can tell you want it, babe.” He smirked.

 

Liam’s lungs burned with the air he was holding in, but his heart beat wildly behind his ribcage, wanting to escape practically. “Are you sure about that?”

 

“Positive.” Zayn purred, legs bracketing Liam’s hips. “C’mon, I can take it.”

 

Liam’s lips were parted, red like cherry as his pulse pounded heavily in his ears. He nodded, and scooted forward, cock hanging heavy and pulsing between his legs as the warmth of Zayn’s skin got closer. He’d never been so intertwined or fucked up about one person in all his life, or maybe Zayn had always had Liam wrapped around his little finger. Maybe he was naively unobservant.

 

“C’mon.” Zayn cooed, cupping both of his cheeks again. “You’re so close now, just slip inside. Know you want to feel me, baby. I’ll feel so lovely for you.” He promised, thumb sliding along his jaw.

 

Liam took ahold of himself, clumsy when he finally lined himself up. Even just the brush of Zayn’s hole across the head of his prick had him shivering, and he wondered for a moment if he’d come before he’d actually start.

 

When he finally did push forward, it was like his whole life had boiled down to this moment, just the feeling of Zayn’s tight heat wrapped around his tip, leaving his stomach tight and fluttering.

 

Zayn’s eyebrows crinkled, and his head fell back, tight around Liam when he tried to relax. “Keep going, babe, come on.”

 

Liam nodded, dropping his head into Zayn’s throat as he watched himself. Watched the line of his own cock stretch Zayn further as he sunk deep into his arse, and by the time he’d bottomed out completely, he wanted to let go, shoot his seed in messy, clumsy bursts until he was dizzy just from the way he felt and smelled and tasted like.

 

Zayn was a blubbering mess underneath him, the only time Liam had ever seen that iron composure split. His eyes were held shut, shoulders tensed as he took puffs of air, in through his nose, out through his mouth. “So fuckin’ huge, babe.” He grumbled, palm of his hand dragging across an unshaven strip on Liam’s jaw. “Give me a second here.”

 

Liam nodded, breathing hotly against his neck as he tried to grab every last shred of self-restraint to keep himself from moving anyway. Slamming his hips into that delicate curve of his arse, and lose all inhibition. Wanted to decorate him with his release, and look at how his skin glittered after he’d been fucked, decorated in sweat and setting sunlight.

 

He held still, eyelashes tickling across Zayn’s throat as he waited, pressing soft kisses to his jugular.

 

“Move a little. Slow at first.” Zayn instructed, securing a hand around as much of his bicep as he could. “Be a good boy for me.”

 

Liam almost forgot the do so, and dug his fingers into the sheets for some leverage when he finally began moving, not really pulling out, so much as grinding against his arse, slow like honey.

 

“Mhm, just like that, my sweet.” He cooed, both hands knotting themselves in his curls, pulling without hesitation. “Give me more.”

 

Liam refused to be the type of learner that had to be told anything twice.

 

He lifted himself up to watch Zayn below him as he pulled out, maybe an inch or two, before arching his hips, met with the tiniest bit of resistance when dry skin met friction. He wanted to see every time that sculpted jaw dropped to let out a moan, wanted to watch his hair fall out of its perfect mess, wanted to watch the glow that dusted his forehead and upper lip.

 

He got a little faster when Zayn’s nails dug into his scalp, the bed stuffing shifting when he pummeled his hips downwards, building up a clumsy, juvenile tempo of push and pull, burying himself that beautifully tight heat that made him see bursts of white behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

 

Zayn’s cock was lying hard on his stomach, jostling and wetting his stomach with silvery drops of precum every time the head of Liam’s cock brushed against that spot that had Zayn chanting in a language that Liam didn’t understand.

 

“D’you always break out into Dornish when you--fucking hell…” He growled, looking down to watch his hips slap against Zayn’s arse, the noise echoing off the clay walls. “--always break into Dornish when you’re doing this?”

 

“Only if it’s truly enjoyable.” He panted, eyes glittering with something blissful as he stared into Liam’s eyes. Even though he was the one on top, Zayn’s stares always had him feeling powerless and exposed.

 

“What are you saying?” He asked, watching Zayn’s body jostle with the force of Liam’s thrusts, sitting up to grab both of Zayn’s slim hips in the palms of his hands. He rested back on his knees as he pulled Zayn down on his cock, watching the sheer ecstasy break across face.

 

“Maybe I’ll teach you someday.” Zayn smiled, thumbing across Liam’s forehead. “But right now, I need you to focus.”

 

Liam smirked faintly, pulling him down roughly, enough so that Liam was the one crying out, head falling back. “Zayn, I can’t-” he stuttered, sucking in a deep breath as he resorted back to shallow, shaky thrusts. “Can’t last long.”

 

“I know.” Zayn cooed, pulling him down so his forehead could rest against his. “Finish when you need to. I won’t be far behind.”

 

Liam nodded, and picked up the pace, holding his arms down to the bed, while the sun decorated Zayn’s skin like burnt cinnamon. He went into a kind of trance, the sound of their heavy breathing hanging thick in his ears as he fucked into him like every first-timer did. Fast, and hard, and sloppy, but it worked somehow in this case, or Liam at least hoped it was working.

 

Every time he slid into him, he buried himself a little deeper, stomach clenching tighter every time Zayn uttered something unfamiliar, or moaned and cried out like it was everything he was craving from Liam.

 

His stomach was wet with spiderwebs of cloudy white, and not seconds later, Zayn had gotten a good hand around himself, wet slapping noises echoing in his ears when the Dornishman began to jerk himself off in earnest, the foreskin drawing back under the head every time he squeezed the base of his cock, and fondled with his balls.

 

The sight alone had a shudder rolling through his body like a storm, and bright colors burned behind his eyelids when he finally came, head dropping into Zayn’s neck when he shot off halfway inside him, his cum spurting and dribbling out in white ribbons.

 

“Holy fuck.” He shivered, nails dug into his shoulder, his skin feeling feverishly hot as he rode out his orgasm.

 

He felt Zayn contract under him, his voice going short while Liam savored the aftershocks, and glanced down in time to watch Zayn pop his load, release staining his own and Liam’s stomach when he finally came, fingers closed tightly around himself.

 

Liam involuntarily shivered again, leaning down to kiss him like he wanted to leave bruises on his lips, pushing himself deep inside again. Zayn responded, but the slide of his mouth was a little lazier. A little sloppy, and when Liam opened his eyes, Zayn’s were drooped shut. Still riding it all out.

 

Liam gently licked past his lips, only pulling away when he finally felt Zayn’s tongue flicker against his own to collapse on top of him.

 

He heard Zayn grunt in his ear, and felt a cold hand push at his shoulder. “Liam, you’re lovely, but you weigh a ton.”

 

Liam grumbled in response, carefully pulling out, before rolling off, prick hanging half hard and over-sensitive between his legs.

 

They were both quiet for moments after, basking in the warmth of the sun, staring up at muted red clay and the woven tapestry that made up the canopy.

 

Finally Liam felt the bed dip next to him. Could see out of his peripheral when Zayn sat up, and gave Liam a playful whack on his stomach. “You’re kind of all over me.” Zayn smirked. “Just gonna clean myself up a little.” He finished, standing and stretching his arms above his head, before wandering over to the wash basin.

 

Liam watched him go, walking with that kind of prestige that came from wearing fine clothes, or a new suit of armour. And the idea of walking around nude, shamelessly, always felt a little juvenile and silly to Liam, but with the late afternoon light peering in from the open balcony, and the sated feeling of bliss that clouded Liam’s head, Zayn never looked more beautiful than when he was bare. There were small, almost unnoticeable marks along Zayn’s neck, and shoulders, and he put them there.

 

He rolled over onto his front, head rested in the crook of his elbow as he watched Zayn clean himself off, water droplets rolling down his thighs, and chest, before the squire made his way back to the bed, sitting on the edge next to the Prince.

 

“How do you feel this time, hm?” Zayn asked, brushing his fingers through Liam’s fringe. “You feel regret?”

 

Liam wished he could say he didn’t, because he liked to believe he shouldn’t have to regret things like this, like Zayn who hardly gave it a second thought.

 

But he could feel it in his chest. That achey, pangy feeling behind his ribcage that fluttered with worry and wonderment. Should he have gone through with that?

 

Probably not, no.

 

But Zayn had invaded every part of his senses, and it didn’t feel so wrong then.

 

“I don’t know.” Liam admitted, licking his lips. “Would you be upset if I did?”

 

Zayn’s fingers stilled, but his expression was much the same as it had been before. Carefully blank, but overall relaxed. “No.” He said, finally, starting his fingers up again. “It’s not uncommon for first times. Especially if that first time wasn’t what you’d planned to happen.”

 

Liam mulled that thought around. It made sense, really. Sex had been such a taboo part of growing up, that maybe even with the right woman, he still would’ve felt guilty. The first time is what’s supposed to make him a man, according to his father, but he felt just the same as he had before. No overwhelming feelings of transformation or pride in himself. He just felt like... well.

 

Himself.

 

“Do you need me to leave?” Zayn asked, massaging his fingers across the back of Liam’s neck. Soothing him.

 

Liam shook his head, before sitting up, fixing Zayn with a look that he hoped conveyed how much he wanted Zayn to stay. He didn’t want to be left alone to overanalyze.

 

“I really don’t.” He mumbled, pulling a blanket around his hips. “Will you, just...stay and talk to me for a little?”

 

Zayn froze, before one corner of his mouth pulled up into something resembling a smile. “Of course.” He gave a curl of hair a little tug, watching it spring back. “What about?”

 

Liam stared at the floor in front of him, Zayn sat a just a few inches behind him. “Like how much I’ve hurt your sister already. She doesn’t…know, obviously. But I’ve wronged her. And this thing with you. It’s confusing me, and I don’t know if I should feel upset with you, or upset with myself for letting it happen.”

 

He felt the bed shift behind him, sighing heavily when he felt Zayn’s arms loop around his middle from behind, and the jut of his chin hook over his shoulder.

 

“You are a beautiful man to me, Liam.” He drawled, low in his chest. “Do you know that? Hm?” He asked with a careful lift to his voice. He pulled one hand out from around his waist to reach up, brushing over Liam’s jawbone like it was delicate. “I think so. Do not worry so much.”

 

“I don’t think that you thinking I’m beautiful does me much good here.” He mumbled, letting out a weak, breathy laugh.

 

“Maybe not.” Zayn shrugged, swaying them just the slightest bit. “Do not worry about my sister. She doesn’t have to know, and assuming that she found out, she wouldn’t be upset.”

 

Liam wondered if that was entirely accurate. He assumed that his own wife might have a little problem with him fucking someone else, but he kept quiet on the topic.

 

“And there’s nothing wrong with what we’ve just done.” He spoke, kissing the shell of his ear. “You need to understand that. Nothing wrong, okay? Who you choose to do that with is your business, and yours alone. Not the king’s, not the council’s, nor the country’s business. Just yours alone.”

 

Liam leaned back into him, just as a vice more than anything. He felt safe like this, and in the privacy of his room especially, he needed that extra bit of contact. That kind of reassurance he couldn’t have with people in public.

 

“She’s gonna know.” Liam mumbled.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Your sister. My wife. We, uh.” Liam licked his lips. “Kind of stained the sheets with our-”

 

Zayn snorted, burying his face against the side of Liam’s neck. “Don’t worry about that either. This is a good thing.”

 

Liam frowned. “How, exactly?”

 

“The handmaidens who wash these sheets will see it.” Zayn explained. “Irrefutable proof that you slept with your wife.”

 

Liam groaned. “Why the fuck does anyone care whether or not I sleep with her?”

 

“Because, your traditions here are a little odd, babe. You all get strangely excited about who’s slept with whom.” He quirked a wry smile, pinching one of his cheeks. “But it’ll be good. King can’t get mad now.”

 

It brought a tiny smile to Liam’s face, before sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Only we have to know?”

 

“Yes.” Zayn sighed. “Only we have to know.”

  


************************

  


Liam could smell it from outside the door.

 

It smelled like sick, and rot, and musk, and he gave Ser Rodrand a careful look. “When did this happen?”

 

The knight hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. “Last night.”

 

“And you didn’t feel the need bring me here then?” Liam blinked, irritated that he’d been kept in the dark for too long.

 

“It started out like a cough. Just an irritated throat. We didn’t feel the need to find you, then. We brought him some tea, and he slept.” Rodran spoke, sheepish with each syllable. “This morning when he checked, we’d thought him very near death. Fetched any help we could find. He’s stable, and conscious it seems, but far from well. We’re not sure what he was hit with.”

 

Liam sighed, and adjusted his doublet. “He gets sick when we travel. It happens all the time.”

 

“Not like this.” Ser Rodrand’s eyes widened a little. “Never like this, m’lord.”

 

Liam waved him off, eyes flicking towards the ceiling, before knocking gently, and walking in.

 

The smell was about twice as worse when the heavy oak door swung open on its hinges, and he felt like he’d been physically struck by it.

 

His father looked about larger than normal, spread out on the bed with his arms splayed out, the sheets pulled up to his navel.

 

“Liam.” He sighed, not moving a muscle, until a wet cough clawed from his throat. He heaved to cough up whatever was stuck, before settling back in. “There you are.”

 

Liam turned to take one last breath of fresh air from the outside, before closing the door shut behind him, venturing over to the end of the bed. “Hello, father.” He spoke, keeping his face still, however the king’s was much more revolting up close.

 

He skin had developed a kind of a pox. Red, bloated mounds misshaping his face, the whites of his eyes looking almost yellow. He could hear his breathing too, and the way it sounded like every inhale and exhale scratched his throat and lungs.

 

“Heard you were feeling a little under the weather.” He murmured, tentatively taking one of his hands. There was a thick sheen of perspiration coating every inch of his skin, but Liam refused to let himself look put off.

 

His father smiled softly, eyelids drooping, before he snapped to again. “They say I’m gettin’ stronger already. Over the worst of it.”

 

Liam nodded, although he wondered if anything could be worse than this. He smelled like an infected wound, almost, and Liam remembers that smell after the first time war touched the capital. It had been before even Zayn had sailed to King’s Landing, and the dining hall had been used as a temporary space to aid all the dying, and wounded.

 

Liam thinks this is where his aversion to violence stems from. The first time he’d seen men cut open, and bleeding, begging to be ended before the pain or infection took them in the end.

 

“You’ll be on your feet in no time.” He mumbled, offering a meek smile.

 

The king stared at him for a moment too long, and Liam wondered for a moment if maybe he’d fallen into a state of unconsciousness, eyes still open and everything.

 

“You’re a good boy. Always were.” The King’s eyelids drooped. “Just think of being King someday. The people will rally behind you.”

 

Liam’s eyebrows raised. He glanced over to the side table, and the small, clay bowl sat there. A liquid thick and white like milk coated the bottom. Milk of the poppy, he knew, and he knew it was the drug talking then.

 

“You need to rest, okay?” Liam spoke softly, grabbing a wet cloth to drape over the King’s forehead. “You’ll be up and about the sooner you do.”

 

“Yeah.” The man gruffed out, face pinching when his body involuntarily shuddered with the sickness. “Send the fair-haired harlot who changes by bedclothes.”

 

Liam’s face colored, and he stood, letting his father’s hand dropped from his own. He wiped the sweat off on his pants, and backed away. “I’ll visit after supper tonight, okay? Bring you a little something to snack on.”

 

“I’m fit enough to eat lamb. You’ll bring me a full meal, Liam. None of this pussy bullshit.” He grumbled, chest constricting suddenly when he had another coughing fit.

 

Liam wrinkled his nose, but nodded regardless, opening and shutting the door behind him. He leaned back against the wood for a few seconds, taking deep breaths in through his nose to get rid of the foul smell.

 

When he’d finally found the will to venture down into the courtyard, people were lighting candles, and leaving them at the base of temple, while the smoke wafted up to the King’s shuttered window, many feet above.

 

It would have been endearing if Liam himself didn’t feel slightly sick to his stomach, just from being within a couple feet of the man, and he hoped beyond hope that he wouldn’t catch the same thing.

 

He spent whatever remaining hours of daylight he had visiting all the landmarks he knew of, watching people go about their normal day, or praying underneath an archway. He walked past, eyeing the Great Sept looming in the distance. It was kind of a bulbous structure, with seven pillars stretching up towards the skies. Supposed to resemble a crown, or a star, depending on who you asked. It was custom to visit the place of worship in every town he visited, take pieces of each culture with him. His father had always told him that to know a person well, one had to know how they worshipped.

 

Liam also thinks that this isn’t really his business, but he doesn’t typically say anything.

 

The building is a startling shade of white, made of marble, with jagged bolts of black decorating the surface like veins. The door itself is taller than any human needs, he thinks. He could only imagine giants from the stories his nursemaid used to tell him as a child could make use of a door so massive, and as he goes to grab the handle, the door bursts open from within, smacking his shoulder hard enough to send him staggering back a few steps. The woman who steps out is cloaked from head to toe in tourmaline robes, hood pulled up over her head. Her nose and mouth are covered by a scarf, and eyes are dark, but Liam all but misses them when she pushes by, hardly casting him a glance.

 

He narrowed his eyes, watching her leave, before catching the door on the swing back, and takes a step inside.

 

It’s considerably colder than it is outside, and smells like burning sugar and something heavier like powder and candle smoke.

 

In the center lies a large basin, almost a pool that juts out of the floor like it’s embedded in the clay, and the water within is clear blue. The light from the sun above shines through stained glass, and casts light shadows of water ripples all around him, and surrounding the pool in a large circle: seven altars for seven gods.

 

But no one is here.

 

Not that Liam can see anyway, because the only footsteps echoing through the tall archways are his own.

 

He spins around slowly to take it all in, and brushes his hand along the walls as he walks, paying each altar a visit. Gives the Crone a few seconds, kneels before the Warrior, stands and studies the Crone, the Smith, the Maiden, passes by the Father as well as the Stranger. He gives praise to the Mother most of all, always, because he thinks it’s his own mother looking down on him. Blessing him with all the guidance he could possible need, and he misses her a lot.

 

He sits by her feet, and leans back on his palms, all sense of grace or tradition leaving him for a second as he studies her face, etched in stone. She looks different than the one back home. He toys with the bouquet of dead flowers resting on her toes.

 

He doesn’t hear or register the presence behind him, and nearly smacks his head on the altar when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and bolts upwards, onto his feet.

 

Zayn’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back, holding his hands out in front of him, before his lips pull back into a grin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

 

“The hell are doing here?” Liam asks, clutching a hand to his chest while his heart tries to leap out of his throat. “Fuck, give me some kind of a warning next time.”

 

“Think that would really help?” Zayn laughs, giving Liam’s shoulder a pat. “Breathe a little. I’m on orders from the Council. Just making some arrangements.”

 

“The Council doesn’t meet for another three days.” Liam frowned, both hands dropping to his sides. “What arrangements?”

 

Zayn scrunched his nose up, eyes crinkling at the sides. “Why talk about boring Council orders, when I could be getting on my knees for you? All religious, and shit.” He pinched Liam’s cheek, before dropping down to his knees in front of him, holding onto his hips for support.

 

Liam’s prick stirs where it’s confined, and he kind of just wants to let Zayn do what he will. But he rolls his eyes, and reaches down, bunching his hand in the material Zayn’s shirt, before pulling him up. “Are you actually insane? Someone could walk in at any moment, Zayn.” He hissed, eyes narrowed. “The High Septon is-”

 

“-Passed out in his quarters.” Zayn finished for him, self-satisfied smirk in place. “Just went to see him.”

 

Liam dropped his hand, eyes widening. “What did you-”

 

“Relax, I haven’t done anything to him,” Zayn snorted, “He fancies shimmer wine a little too much. It’s common knowledge. Have to postpone my meeting with him since he’s lying in a puddle of his own drool.” His eyes rolled once.

 

Liam searched his eyes for a moment, head cumbered with an abundance of questions. “Okay. That still doesn’t excuse the fact that you just tried to-” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “-that you tried to blow me in a public place. Let alone a place of worship. I could get in huge trouble, Zayn. Do you have any idea what my father would do to me if he knew? What he’d do to you?”

 

“Yes.” Zayn sighed, head dropping back as he huffed. “You’ve got a stick up your arse bigger than your cock. Must be uncomfortable.”

 

Liam was taken aback, a look of shock clouding his face, before his expression went carefully blank, and he stepped past Zayn to storm out towards the exit.

 

“Wait.” Zayn caught his arm, tugging him back. “C’mon, Liam. I was joking. Don’t take it like that.”

 

“No, I will.” Liam growled, voice echoing heavily off marble and clay. “You don’t take this seriously at all. My whole life is under constant supervision. One slip, Zayn. That’s it.”

 

He watched Zayn swallow, and when he reached out, smoothing his hands down Liam’s arms.

 

“I’m sorry.” He said, leaning in to catch his eye. “Hey, I am. Okay? I just...I think you’re letting everything get to you. You’ve got so much potential, and you’re not using it. I’m trying to pull you out of your box a little.”

 

“Thanks, but I don’t need you to do that.” Liam snapped. He softened when Zayn stared long and hard at him, unimpressed. “I just...I’m sorry, but what the fuck are you talking about, Zayn?” He blinked.

 

“You’re great as you are.” Zayn said, brushing his fingers across Liam’s cheek. “But you’ve got so much more in you. I see it. You were born for the throne, and I can’t think of anyone more fit. People look up to you.”

 

“People ignore me.” Liam said bluntly. “I’m the lame, ailing son of a foolish ailing king. No one pays me any mind.”

 

“Do you pay them any mind?” Zayn lifted a brow. “Visit them? Check in on those living in poverty? Boost morale? Provide relief?”

 

Liam shook his head meekly.

 

Zayn mimicked him, “No. You don’t. You hide behind your walls, and let other people tell you what to do. You’re better than that.”

 

Liam blinked, feeling a flicker of something spark in his chest. “What are you implying I do, then? Mount the heads of my enemies along the walls, and send us further into debt by giving away all our money?”

 

“Smartarse. No.” Zayn smoothed his hands down his chest. “I’ll help you. You can be better than your father. A better ruler. Someone the people actually feel proud to stand behind. You’re not a boy anymore.”

 

Liam swallowed, eyes searching Zayn’s. There was a beat of silence, before he piped up again. “What arrangements were you here to make, Zayn?”

 

The Dornishman’s eyebrows furrowed, and he blinked. “-What?”

 

“The arrangements. What were they?” Zayn stayed quiet. “If I’m going to trust you implicitly, even more than I do now, then you have to be completely honest with me, always.”

 

Zayn shook his head, cupping Liam’s cheeks as he leaned in to rest their foreheads together. “I promise, it’s nothing. Probably won’t even be necessary, but you have to trust me, okay? Council says I’m not to tell you.”

 

“Not to tell everyone, or just me?”

 

Zayn sighed, the breath rushing against Liam’s lips. “Please, just trust me. I can tell you soon. It’s really nothing.”

 

Liam hated that his resilience broke like it did, because even if he wanted to play tough and refuse Zayn what he wanted, he knew he couldn’t. He nodded, venturing out to let a hand brush gently across his hip, before dropping to his side. “Fine.” he mumbled, pushing a hand through his hair instead. “I need to get out of here. Getting a headache from all the-” he waved his hand around noncommittally at the wafts of smoke clouding the air.

 

“Allow me to walk you out.” Zayn smiled, elbow hooking with Liam’s as they made their way towards the door.

  


***************************

  


The traditional white Kingsguard cloak became incredibly cumbersome when wet. One would think they’d find a better material to fashion it out of, given the status of being in a king’s service such as that, and all the foot traffic that came with the job.

 

However, that was not the case, and when Louis unclipped the soggy, dripping material from his shoulders, it fell to the ground with a wet slap, and his shoulders could better slump forward.

 

It hadn’t rained. Not even a little, no. Some brat did however think it quite amusing to dump sheets of water out the window of his poor excuse for a house, let alone a shack even. Louis had just been the unlucky passerby.

 

His quarters here were much like Liam’s, if maybe a touch less prestigious. In one corner rested his tub, in the other a bed, and pushed against another wall was a wardrobe, and so forth. It was all the unnecessary luxuries he didn’t need to trouble himself with anyway.

 

Pieces of his armor fell to the ground in heavy chunks, letting his skin breath.

 

He slid out of his chest piece, spotting the faded white line of a scar around his shoulder in his peripheral while he went to work on his greaves and gauntlets.

 

He pulled off the faded, sweat-stained shirt underneath-- the one he always wore underneath-- and dropped that to the side as well.

 

Scooping the pieces up in his arms, he arranged them all out on the floor where the sun hit them just right. Couldn’t afford rust or mold, or he’d be seen as sloppy and uncaring.

 

Which he definitely was, but he valued the coin he scavenged on the job more than his lifestyle.

 

And part of giving up that lifestyle meant seeing to the King when he was summoned, regardless of where he was, what state of undress he was in, or what god awful time it happened to be. Today he happened to be so unfortunate.

 

Pulling on summery, dry clothes made his skin feel raw and cold like fresh clay, but it was soothing and took the edge off, just even the tiniest bit, if at all.

 

He strapped on his sword belt, just for good measure. Couldn’t afford to be too careful these days, even in a city that seemed so at peace and untouched by external problems.

 

When he approached the hall to the King’s quarters, the smell was even worse than it had been before. Something putrid and foul, almost evil, but Flea Bottom smelled much of the same most days.

 

He squared his shoulders out, knocking lightly with his knuckle, before pushing inside.

 

King Payne had perhaps gotten a little better, according to local gossip, but he looked much of the same. They were just thankful he hadn’t gotten worse, but Louis was different.

 

The only thing he dwelled on more than the idea of his balls freezing off on top of the Wall, was the image himself smothering the king with a pillow. Put him out of his pitiful misery.

 

Liam wouldn’t like it, he knew. And he’d probably never have the heart to do it himself, but the thought was appealing nonetheless.

 

“Your Grace.” he bowed his head, only looking up when the King cleared his throat with an almost impressive amount of force. “You sent for me?”

 

“I did.” He grumbled, wiping the moisture off his top lip with the back of his hand. The boils on his face had begun to sag a little, giving his bone structure this look like melted wax. He had become something borderline grotesque. “I should be up walking in days. Said I’m improving significantly.”

 

“Well, it shows on your face, your Grace.” Louis offered a curt nod. “Looking better already.”

 

“A woman came in to have a look at me. Whispered sweet things in my ear. She’s healing me, she says.” His lips curled into a disgusting c-curve, the corners of his mouth disappearing under a greying sprout of hair on his upper lip, and the straggly ones on his chin and neck that were supposed to form a beard. “Pretty little thing she was. I’d’ve had her on her knees if I could bloody well sit up properly. Next time, though.”

 

Louis raised an eyebrow, before schooling his expression, as well as the wave of nausea that hit his stomach. “Any woman should be so lucky.”

 

“I should think so.” The King fell quiet, the only thing filling the void being his labored, pathetic breaths. “She came with Raymus.”

 

And Louis really did feel sick then. His face felt hot, but he knew he was just about as pale as his cloak, hanging off his balcony up the hill. “Your brother.”

 

“My brother. Arrived just last night from the north.”

 

“Your Grace,” Louis tread carefully. “There aren’t women on the Wall.”

 

“Well, she didn’t take the bloody fuckin’ vows if that’s what you’re implying.” He wheezed, face red with exertion.

 

Louis frowned, fingers curling at his sides. It would have been so easy to drive his blade straight through that thick neck of his. Feel the spray of red across his face, and wait for the city’s defense to throw him in a cell to schedule his execution.

 

He was a dead man walking, regardless of whether he died here or on the Wall.

 

“Who is she, then?” Louis asked, clasping his arms together in front of him.

 

“That woman-” The voice came from behind him this time, “-is my business. Came to offer her guidance in a time we needed it most.”

 

Louis stared at the bed, but he knew he was behind him. He turned his head to the side, catching the shadow of a figure standing in the doorway.

 

“Raymus.” He turned to give him a bow as well. “You’re looking a good deal less frigid than you looked the last time I saw you. Find a nice girl to stick your dick in?”

 

“That’s Lord Commander to you, and you best remember that, lest you’d like to take a nice running leap off the top of the Wall.” He stepped forward, clapping Louis on the shoulder. “It’s long way down for a twig like you.”

 

“It’s a long way down for the beefier ones, too.” Louis pointed out, shouldering out of his touch. “Thought you weren’t supposed to get here for at least three nights.”

 

“We came early.” He explained, scratching the stubble on his cheek. His hair was white like snow, but he didn’t look a day over forty-one. His eyes were dark and cold like he’d aged a century. “Wanted to stay for the harvest feast, before heading out. And no. I don’t stick my dick in her.”

 

“Can’t get it up?”

 

Raymus smiled once, but it wasn’t warm. “We’re gonna break you up north. You can keep your wits now, but don’t expect the summer snow to be nice on your mental state. Winter’s not yet come, and boy are you gonna love it when it does.”

 

Louis fell quiet, insides churning at the threat. It seemed like a threat, anyway.

 

“As I said. Feast tonight. We leave before the sun comes up.”

 

Louis frowned. and shook his head. “N-...no, I need more time. I have people I need to say goodbye to.”

 

“Your parents have been notified. Although I hear you’re a bastard, so maybe only your father has the news of it. Some Lord, is he?” His eyes narrowed, words aimed to hurt. “You’re a disgrace to have taken his last name. A bastard’s name belongs with you.”

 

Louis choked on a breath, and shoved past him on his way out the door.

 

The King was asleep when Louis looked back. Not as if he could offer much support anyway. The decision had been made without him, he knew, and the King must have given consent to such a notion.

 

He gave the Lord Commander one last sweeping look, before turning on his heel, and stomping off.

 

He resembled a child, but he didn’t care. He’d rather stomp the fuck off than act like he was pleased with any of this. It’s not like the King could really sit up and tell him off. He wouldn’t be in the king’s service soon enough, and it wasn’t death relieving him of his duty like tradition called for.

  
  


*****************************

  


There was something uneasy in the air tonight. Maybe it was Zayn helping him dress, maybe it was the plethora of handmade candles below his balcony, staining the pavement red.

 

There was something off, regardless, He felt it in his bones, and clouding his head. But he knew himself well, and knew that his anxiety was often nothing. Just a useless feeling of panic that brought him nothing but hyperventilation and a new stress line.

 

He waited until Zayn had left before dribbling hot water over his face, and cleaning his hair up a bit. Zayn liked it messy, but Liam wanted to look clean cut, and deserving of such a feast. And the harvest feast was lovely, according to rumor.

 

All the fresh fruits, vegetables, wines, and meats that weren’t sold off in trade to celebrate the coming of August, and all the hard work the farmers had put in.

 

He took one last look at himself, and his shaking hands, before making the trek down from his little corner of Highgarden, down to the mess hall, where villagers from all over, rich and poor, waited in droves of bubbling excitement to be seated, carrying giant platters of meals they’d brought to share.

 

Louis was by his side in a moment, followed by Rick and Sven--two others in his service--and even through the chaos of so many people in one space, they happily obliged when Louis pushed their way past them, pulling Liam along behind him like a puppy.

 

The hall was done up with wreaths of sage, lit and burning. Kept evil spirits away, according to old beliefs. Every long table was brought out, and crowded with plates and flagons, and pitchers of all varieties of drin. A table had been set near the front for royal parties, and one raised up for the royal family of Highgarden.

 

At that table, his father sat, handkerchief held up to cover his mouth while a serving woman wiggled in his lap. If she was disgusted by the deformities on his face, then she hid it well.

 

Liam wasn’t shocked by that part. The only shocking part seemed to be the feat of his father up and out of bed, when he’d looked like death the last couple of nights Liam had visited him.

 

“How-”

 

“Some woman has been seeing to his health needs. Came up with your uncle, or summat.” Louis answered before he could finish. “Guess she can work a miracle after all. Or she just gives good head.”

 

Liam frowned at the thought, and resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose in distaste. “My uncle is here?” He asked, head craning to look at Louis as they took their seats in their unofficially reserved spots. “He never even came to say hello.”

 

“Well, you can have my hello, if you want.” Louis sighed, picking up his serrated knife to start sawing at the table noncommittally. “No offense, ‘cause you’re lovely and whatnot, but your family sucks. They’re truly fucking awful, mate, and I want to punch all of them.”

 

Liam grinned at him across the table, glancing around the mostly empty hall. “Oh, come on. Uncle couldn’t have been that bad.”

 

Louis shrugged, and kept quiet, eyes trained on the knife in his hand. He hesitated. “You know...you know that I’ve really enjoyed your friendship. And serving you has been an honor.”

 

Liam’s expression fell, eyes carefully trained on Louis’ emotionless expression. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Serving you and your family. Keeping you alive.” Louis mumbled, eyes glossy. “You’re going to be a very fair king someday, and I look forward to living under your rule.”

 

Liam’s jaw fell a little. He smiled a little, and shook his head. “Are you getting sick, too?” He teased, resting his chin in his hand. “‘Cause I need you to stick around a little longer, and not look like that.” Liam nodded towards the King, grinning.

 

Louis froze, eyes flickering up to meet Liam’s. “That’s just it, Liam, I-”

 

The double doors burst open, and people spilled in, filling the hall with such a clamor that Louis closed his mouth with an audible clack, shutting himself up.

 

Liam stared at him, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, even as the seats and tables around him quickly filled, and the volume reached a level where Liam couldn’t even hear himself.

 

He glanced over when he felt someone sit next to him, eyes widening in shock when Illyria smiled back at him, candy sweet.

 

“Hello, darling.” She spoke, laying a hand on his thigh.

 

It was like seeing a dragon in a brothel. She was garbed in an ivory white dress, the neckline stretching all the way down to just above her bellybutton, so the curvature of her breasts were on full display. Her hair hung in loose curls that ended down by her waist, pulled out of her face with ribbon and netting. She looked much as she did nearly a week before. The last time Liam had even seen her.

 

His jaw was hanging open, and he was leaned away, but he finally got his wits about him enough to talk. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve had people looking.”

 

“I know.” She squeezed his thigh, before reaching over him to pour herself a glass. “I met the most fascinating group of women. All intellectuals of all sorts. They’ve been showing me around the city--all the little nooks I missed--and late in the evening, we’d have sitting circles in the garden.”

 

“And you didn’t think to let me know, maybe?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Oh, you.” She purred, reaching up to stroke one of his cheeks. “You’ve been keeping busy enough for the both of us, I think.”

 

Liam’s face went hot, and her gaze pierced right through him. Whether she actually knew what he feared she’d find out about was still a mystery, but the thought still had his stomach rolling over.

 

“Don’t worry. I sleep in our bed together, still. You’re always fast asleep and drooling when I get in.” She giggled.

 

Liam turned back to his plate, empty as it was, and took a deep breath.

 

Louis kicked his foot under the table, and when he looked up, frowning in confusion, before the seat next to him was filled as well. He didn’t even have to look over to know who it was, and Zayn’s smell filled his nose in two seconds flat.

 

“That stick up your arse must make sitting painful.” Zayn mumbled in his ear, much like he always did during large events.

 

Liam shoved at his shoulder, and rested his face in his hands while everyone else took their seats.

 

It felt like hours of useless chatter, and the pitter pattering of feet all around him, before the roar seemed to die down to an unusual calm.

 

He lifted his head, and looked towards the center where every other face was pointed.

 

“That’s her.” Louis spoke, eyes wide with something like...fear? On Louis, fear was jarring enough.

 

He glanced back, watching a woman waltz down the walkway, long rivulets of wine-red hair spilling down in heavy curls to frame a heart-shaped face, and heart-shaped lips. The silks she wore were so red they were almost black, and underneath, her bodice outlined every curve, and pushed her breasts up to the point that they were almost spilling over. A pendant choker rested at the base of her throat, a gem at its focal point.

 

“She looks like…” Illyria trailed off. “Is she one of those dragon priestess thingies?”

 

“Fire priestess.” Zayn corrected from Liam’s other side. “That’s what they’re called.”

 

The King stood abruptly, the girl in his lap knocking herself against the table before falling to the ground, forgotten. She scrambled to her feet, and scurried off, while the King lifted his glass, and drank in favor of her.

 

The woman smiled when she approached the table, reaching across to cup the King’s cheek, leaning in to whisper something in his ear.

 

“She’s beautiful.” Illyria hummed, resting her chin in her hand as she watched the woman.

 

Raymus rose from beside the king, and reached out to take her hand, leaning down to kiss her bare knuckles.

 

“She’s the one that came in with your uncle.” Louis spoke, staring sidelong at Liam. “Some kind of healer.”

 

Slowly, the voices picked back up to a dull buzz, but attention shifted over to her now and then as she took her place beside Raymus, pushing the food on her plate around but never really eating.

 

“Wonder what a Fire Priestess was doing up on the wall.” Louis frowned, and that’s when Liam noticed him not quite eating either. Even when food was served from large, copper platters, and fresh fruit was set in large bowls along every table. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“They typically don’t.” Zayn snorted. “They ramble on about teachings that are so outdated, they might as well be a cult.” He said, digging into a slice of lamb. “We had many with the trading caravans in Dorne. They mostly ran around, preached, and tried to extort travelers.”

 

“Do you think she’s extorting him?” Liam asked, nodding towards his uncle.

 

Zayn studied the pair for a moment, before shaking his head. “He’s a man on the Wall. What could she possibly want to extort from him?”

 

“He is the Lord Commander.”

 

“Even so.” Zayn mumbled under his breath. “That just means he’s got a surplus collection of dusty books, bird shit, and frozen testicles. Priestesses don’t flock to that kind of lifestyle.”

 

Liam stole a fig, and nibbled it as he watched his father. His cheeks had new mirth and color to them, even with the imperfections still there, but he was more alive than he’d looked in days. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was her.

 

“She’s obviously done some good.” Liam said, “My father raves about her.”  


“He wants to get her clothes off.” Louis scowled, “That’s about as far as his fascination goes.”

 

“I’m not sure it’s just that.” Liam frowned, “The last couple times I’ve been in to see him, he’s spoken of her treatments, albeit, very vaguely. But she seems to be helping in every way. Even if she’s just there to dab his forehead.”

 

“She sounds like a pushover.” Louis grumbled, “What else is new? She’s probably after your father’s money. Where’s your boyfriend, by the way?”

 

Liam choked, a piece of fig going down the wrong pipe. He felt Illyria’s hand smooth over his back when he finally coughed it up, Zayn laughing quietly beside him as he took long sips from his cup.

 

“What do you mean?” He wheezed, rubbing his throat as he kicked Zayn under the table. He revelled in the little hiss of pain he heard beside him.

 

“Harry.” Louis elaborated. “Fucking twit isn’t in his seat.”  


“Why do you care?” Liam asked, raising an eyebrow. “Seems like you’re the one pining to be his boyfriend.”

 

“First of all, I don’t pine for anyone.” Louis grabbed a lamb chop with his knife. “And second of all, he’s revolting. Just wondering if I should start celebrating his absence or not.”

 

Liam laughed quietly, before glancing towards Harry’s empty spot at the front table, beside his father. “I believe he’s in the kitchen. He fancies himself a baker. Wanted to make something for tonight.”

 

“You mean he fancies a baker.” Louis snorted. “Probably flirting his way into some unsuspecting baker’s pants.”

 

“Then I would advise you not to eat whatever he makes.” Zayn smirked from his side. “Might have a few special, unorthodox ingredients.”

 

“You’re disgusting.” Louis deadpanned. “Even more than Harry.”

 

Liam laughed, and wondered how many of these interactions between Zayn and Louis he’d have left to witness.

 

The sound of knives clanking against water glasses in broken unison had the whole room shushing up again as Harry’s father stood to raise a toast.

 

The man was tall, and gaunt like Harry, but the beard and the lines around his eyes and mouth gave his age away.

 

“I’ll make this a short prayer.” The man spoke, voice syrupy deep like his son’s, and his smile was just as kind. “We can thank the Seven for the harvest we’ve had this year, as it’s been fruitful. But it’s not the gods who really put in the time and effort and sweat on their brow. Our farmers, sons, and daughters put their hearts into this feast, and can rest well knowing they’ve fed half the kingdoms of Westeros. We give thanks to the Seven, and for the harvests to come. May Winter be kind on us.”

 

The rest of the hall murmured their agreement, and drank from wine cups, stopping when the Red Lady stood, and held her glass up as well.

 

“That was lovely.” She spoke, voice traveling along every table in waves. She glanced down at the King, then to Harry’s father, lastly to Raymus. “Where I come from, we do not thank the Seven. Such an old-fashioned religion is lost on us. But I’ll admit, there is some charm to your worship.”

 

Liam frowned slightly, watching faces turn towards each other in confusion, and distaste, but all kept quiet to hear her go on.

 

“I’ve been here a short time, and I see fear among many of you.” She spoke, moving around the back of her chair to go stand behind the King’s. “Fear of war. Fear of famine. Fear of death and hatred. Fear of fire.” She licked her lips. “Let us not fear. The night is dark, and full of terrors, but there is a light in all of us. And we need only open our eyes, and follow that light. Out of the dark.” She rested a delicate hand on the King’s shoulder. “For we have a King. A ruler that vows to fight your battles, and ease your discomfort. So let us not toast the Seven. Not even the Lord of Light. Let us toast our king.”

 

She raised her glass up, as did everyone else. Everyone drank in unison, even Liam who’d found himself with a glass in hand, although he did not remember picking one up.

 

“Our future king.” She echoed, red lips pulling in a smile so sweet that Liam felt like he was floating. Everything would be fine.

 

The glass dropped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a clang. She leaned down, pressed a kiss to the King’s cheek, whispered something to his ear.

 

Something reflective was in her other hand, Liam could see. It reflected the fire from the hearth. When she brought it up to caress his throat, a knife was held there, almost unnoticeable, but there.

 

“Liam.” He heard Zayn’s voice beside him. “Liam, look away.” Zayn demanded, pulling Liam’s face towards him, before covering his eyes.

 

The Red Lady flicked her wrist back, cutting a red smile across the King’s thick throat, as blood spurt out in a shower of crimson, dusting the tablecloth, and decorating the food.

 

She wrapped her entire fist around the knife then, hugging the king from behind with one arm, while she drove the blade into his belly, and twisted.

 

Men and women shrieked all around him, and it was all Liam could hear, as his vision was blocked. He struggled against Zayn’s grasp, thrashing to get away, but Zayn’s grip was relentless. “Don’t fucking look, Liam.” He hissed, voice shaking with cold and fear. “I’ve got you, c’mon. Stay still for me. Don’t look.”

 

The Red Lady pulled the knife out, and the king staggered to his feet, choking on his own blood as his hands held to his stomach, dashes and rivers of red staining his hands in clothes, making a puddle on the floor. Raymus watched, emotionless where he sat, while everyone around scattered, and trampled one another.

 

Mass panic. Sometimes even more dangerous than charging on a battlefield.

 

When the King fell, Zayn pulled his hand away from Liam’s eyes, but held both of his cheeks to keep him focused on Zayn’s face. “You keep looking at me, okay? Just me.”

 

Liam didn’t realize the hot tears tracking down his cheeks until Zayn brushed one away.

 

Louis was at his side in no less than a second, eyes wide and jumpy with panic, as he clamped a hand around Liam’s wrist. “We’re out of here. Move. Now.” he demanded, tugging Liam away from the table, with Zayn at his back.

 

He tried standing taller as he walked to get a look at the carnage, but there were too many bodies between himself and the mess. Too much commotion and clatter.

 

His father was still alive, to him. He hadn’t seen it. Nothing had happened.

 

He was numb aching all at once while Louis tugged him along, hissing when an elbow connected to his cheek, or a fist connected with his stomach, and just shoving through throngs of panicking masses was a skill all in itself.

 

They were pushing against the crowd, Liam realized, frowning as they passed a group of children, wailing and crying as they pushed their way to the double door, while Louis, Zayn, and Liam headed in the opposite direction.

 

“Where are we going?” he demanded, voice hardened.

 

“Alternate route.” Louis grumbled, pushing through a smaller door way in the back. It led further into the castle, rather than out, but Liam wasn’t one to object. Not in this instance.

 

“Just tell me what happened.” Liam sobbed, once they were alone in a quiet hallway, with the screams and scampering of feet echoing in the distance. He collapsed against one of the walls, holding his head. “Just tell me.”

 

Zayn sucked in a deep breath, and looked away, unable to look Liam in the eye, while Louis tugged at his own hair, muttering incoherently under his breath.

 

“What happened?” Louis spluttered, hands shaking as he paced back and forth. “Well, let’s see, Liam. I fucking goofed on my own job. I had one job, and it’s shot to shit now. She just...she just fucking cut into him.”

 

“Shut the fuck up.” Zayn grumbled, grabbing Louis by the throat with enough force to slam him against the wall. “Don’t speak about his father like that. Right now, do your job, and get him somewhere safe, or I’ll cut into you.”

 

Louis was wide-eyed when he struggled out of Zayn’s grip, pushing at his shoulders. “The fuck is your problem, man?”

 

“Both of you, knock it the fuck off.” Liam snapped, looking up to level them with a look of hatred. “Get me out of here, before I go back in there.”

 

Louis shot Zayn a look, before shoving past him again, grabbing Liam by the forearm. “Harry’s room is around here somewhere. You need to hide away for a few hours.” He mumbled.

 

Zayn shadowed behind them as they wandered the hallways, and up a staircase, and through a corridor of only closed doors, before Zayn stopped and stood in front of one.

 

“This is his.”

 

“Oh?” Louis raised an eyebrow. “How the fuck do you know that?”

 

“Because I’m a nice fucking person, and got to know him.” Zayn snapped, glaring at Louis as motioned for both of them to come forward.

 

“Probably fucked him.” Louis muttered under his breath as he grasped the handle to the door, and carefully pushed it open with a look of trepidation muddling his face.

 

The all stepped inside, carefully shutting the door behind them as the ventured inside, some kind of grunting coming from around the corner.

 

The noises got louder as they walked past a sitting area, and lounge area, before Louis wrinkled his nose. “Is that-...” He trailed off.

 

Louis’ suspicions were confirmed as they pushed their way into the bedroom, eyes landing on a man sat upright on the bed, facing away from the three of them, but even from this angle, Liam could just barely spot the silhouette of Harry’s curls, head between the man’s legs as he bobbed up and down.

 

“Take more, baby, just like that.” The man cooed, head falling back with a look of bliss written across his face, and Louis made a noise of disgust, muting the quiet, wet noises of Harry swallowing the man down. When the man’s eyes opened, and landed on Zayn, Louis, and Liam, he jerked, and pushed Harry off of him, scrambling off the bed as he attempted to cover himself. “Who the fuck d’you-”  


“Relax.” Harry spoke, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he got up, pants still on, much to everyone’s relief as he helped the man dress. He shot the three of them a smile. “Thank you, Oren. We’ll have to do this again.”

 

The man--Oren--looked utterly flabbergasted as he looked Harry over, before scampering out of the room, just barely in his trousers yet.

 

Harry watched him leave, a fond look over his face, before he paid the three of them attention. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, dropping down onto the mattress, resting back on his hands. “A warning next time might be fitting.”

 

Louis was gaping, a mixture of horror and disgust dawning over him. “You’re fuckin’ sick, mate. Actually disgusting.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow when he pointedly looked over at Louis. “You’re a real peach.” he mumbled, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Liam, darling. You look white as a sheet.”

 

“You weren’t at the feast.” Liam mumbled absently.

 

Harry blinked. “I’m afraid I wasn’t, no. I’d made plans to go later. Why? Did you miss me?” He smiled, head rolling over to one side.

 

Liam stared across at the wall, mute, when Zayn finally laid a hand on his back. “Something’s happened. Can he stay in here for a few hours?”

 

Harry softened, the smile leaving his face. “Of course.” He murmured, standing up to come meet Liam across the room.

 

“Wash your hands before you touch him.” Louis snapped.

 

Harry paid him no mind as he took Liam’s hands in his own. “What’s happened?”

 

Liam was all too aware of Zayn standing behind him, holding him close, and whispering soft things in his ear. It was everything he needed, but intensified everything else. The fear, the hurt, the anger. Confusion.

 

“I’ll pour us some water.” Harry spoke when Liam didn’t. “Let’s have a little sit down, and you can tell me all about.” He added, last comment directed at Zayn.

 

Louis gave Harry a wide berth when Harry went to walk past him, but followed behind when they made their way down to the sitting area, the room lit dimly by the fire, and the odd candle sitting up in sconces.

 

They were all quiet, save for the rush of pouring water when Harry poured them all a cup, and sat forward on his knees, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

 

“What’s happened?” He asked again, voice soft and sweet.

 

Louis balanced the cup between both hands, and stared at his reflection in the water.

  
“I think-...” He paused, heart stuttering in his chest at what he was about to say. “I think the King might be dead.”


End file.
